


I don't suppose it's worth the price I would pay (but I'm thinking it over anyway)

by ylc



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Angst, Denial of Feelings, Drama, F/M, Human AU, Mentions of past abuse, Romance, Slow Build, eventual happy ending (I swear!), fem!aziraphale, mentions of past Miscarriage, mentions of past violence, too many complications, violence (not quite graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 68,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: HumanAU. When enemy agents Aziraphale Engel and Anthony Crowley met, the attraction is inmediate, even if both try hard to deny it (and fight it). Things soon get too complicated as their feelings grow and what started as simple attraction becomes something far more dangerous.<br/>Now with a tittle, it comes from the song "barely breathing". And I changed the summary!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A first meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is the first fic I'll be publishing here. Not so sure if the format is right, so feel free to point out any mistakes. Also, English is not my native language, sorry about any mistakes you find! On another note, I've decided to potray Aziraphale as female because of something that'll be happening later... you'll understant. I promise!

Chapter 1  
A first meeting.

The meeting place was a small café near St. James Park. It had seemed a smart choice: the place wasn’t owned by any member of either side, it was out in the open which made an attack easier, but less likely to occur. All in all, Aziraphale though it had been a good decision.  
The tee was awful, though.  
Or maybe it was just her nervousness. She took another sip from her rather bland tee and glanced at her watch. It seemed that the other side’s envoy was running late. Expected, of course, but unwelcome anyway.  
She sighed. She wished she hadn’t been chosen for this assignment, but ever since Michel had informed her Division of the task, she had known she would be the most logical choice. Aziraphale was a born diplomatic: her calm demeanor, along with her politeness and her undeniable ability to defend herself if needed (both verbally and physically) made her the perfect woman for the job.  
Why had her organization decided they needed to have a meeting with the other side was something she didn’t question.  
Sighing again, she took her book out of her purse. If she was going to wait any longer, she better get comfortable. She had just started reading the first page when someone took seat in front of her. She put her book down and glanced at the newcomer.  
It was a handsome man, with dark hair and high cheekbones. He smiled (or was it a smirk?) at her, taking off his sunglasses and offering her his hand “Anthony J. Crowley” he introduced himself “I’m Hell’s envoy”  
“Aziraphale Engel” she said, taking his hand and shaking it “You’re late” she pointed out.  
The man smiled again “Well… yes. But that’s to be expected from someone from my side”  
“I know”  
They stared at each other, measuring their opponent. Aziraphale was fairly sure that Hell had chosen Crowley because of how attractive he was. So attractive that it was almost distracting.  
Almost being the key word. After all, Aziraphale wasn’t one to be distracted by something so trivial.  
She briefly wondered what he thought about her. She knew she was pretty, but rather plain and that her clothing was anything but fashionable. They made quite a contrast, she supposed, considering just how nicely he was dressed. She suddenly wished she had worn a dress, instead of her plain trousers and her frumpy sweater.  
But that was just silly. She was on a meeting with an enemy agent, not on a date!  
“So, Mr. Crowley, I…”  
“Just Crowley”  
She stared at him after the interruption, frowning slightly “Right. So, Crowley, my people sent me…”  
“I think that before we continue this meeting, we should get rid of our weapons. As an act of… good will, if you wish”  
Aziraphale almost groaned. Why did he keep interrupting her? “What makes you think I’m carrying a weapon?” Crowley just stared at her and Aziraphale sighed “Fine” she whispered darkly, taking out the dagger she always keep hidden beneath her sleeve out with one smooth movement and placing it on the table “There. Happy?”  
Crowley smirked and then took a gun out of his belt, tossing it casually next to Aziraphale’s dagger “It’s an odd choice of weapon, don’t you think?”  
Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve never liked guns. They seem so… impersonal”  
“Well, I don’t like any weapon that makes me come too close to my opponent. Would get blood all over my clothes”  
“Of course. You wouldn’t want any blood over those fancy clothes of yours”  
“I suppose that in your case that doesn’t matter much, does it?”  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale asked, her voice rising slightly. She glared at Crowley, who just keep on smirking and she took a deep calming breath. So much for calm demeanor… “Anyway, we’re not here to discuss my fashion sense…”  
“Or lack of it”  
“We’re here to discuss an Arrangement of sorts between our sides” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. She was getting more and more convinced on the fact that her companion had been chosen for this mission because of his handsomeness and not on his diplomacy skills.  
“Right. So, Zira…”  
“Don’t call me that”  
“Oh, come on, you don’t expect me to use your whole name? It’s a mouthful”  
“It’s not…”  
“What does it mean, anyway?”  
Aziraphale sighed. She suspected it was going to be a long afternoon…  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“So, how was your meeting?” Michel asked the next morning, just as soon as she entered the room. Aziraphale groaned.  
“It was hell”  
“Well, I expected as much” her supervisor said, with a teasing smile that made Aziraphale glare at him “what did you think of your contact?”  
“He’s an ass. I can imagine working with him on the long term”  
“Do you want me to choose someone else?”  
Aziraphale thought about it for a couple of seconds “No. I can handle it”  
“I know you can Zira. You’re my best agent!”  
She smiled. That much was true. She still didn’t like her new assignment “I’ve started searching for information about my contact. I haven’t found much, though…”  
“Probably because he’s not high enough for us to have a personal record on him” announced a pissed off voice behind them. Michel rolled his eyes and turned around to face the newcomer.  
“We’ve been through this, Metatron. Zira’s the best for the job”  
James “Metatron” Good, Director of Heaven’s Field Division wasn’t even paying attention to Michel. His gaze was fixed on Aziraphale, who smiled somewhat shyly and tried not to look too unconformable.  
“We could have sent someone else. We didn’t need to send a special agent for this. Anyone else…”  
“Anyone else wouldn’t have made out the most of this mission” Michel argued, crossing his arms in front of him “Zira will get us info that nobody else will”  
“Well, I don’t know about that” Aziraphale interrupted before the Metatron could retort “But I don’t mind. And I’ll do my best to get as much info as possible. Really James, there’s no need for you to worry”  
“Hpmh. Just don’t do anything foolish, Aziraphale” and with that, he left. Michel glared and Aziraphale let out the breath she didn’t even knew she was holding.  
“He’s so… argh!” exclaimed Michel, his attention once more on Aziraphale. She just smiled “Guess that’s what I get for sending his fiancée on a dangerous mission, huh?”  
“Probably” Aziraphale agreed “But don’t worry about him, Michel. I’ll handle this”  
Michel nodded curtly “I certainly hope so, Zira. I wouldn’t want the Metatron going all “I told you so” on me if something happens to you…”  
“I’ll be fine” she argued, with a dismissing wave of her hand “Anthony Crowley may be a headache, but he’s not dangerous”  
He was awfully handsome, though.


	2. Records

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley reviews Aziraphale's record and ponders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, hope you'll enjoy!! Please let me know what you think!!

All in all, it had been a nice afternoon. Crowley had to admit he had been pleasantly surprised with Heaven’s choice of envoy. He had expected an all muscle and no brain kind of guy and instead had ended with a woman who was witty, clever and somewhat sweet.  
With a horrid fashion-sense too.  
And she had managed to keep her cool through most of their conversation. Which was quite an accomplishment, if you asked any of Crowley’s supervisors. He knew he could be beyond annoying when he wanted to and considering he hadn’t wanted to go on this mission, annoying was exactly what he was going for. He had half expected that if his bosses figured out he wasn’t being very diplomatic, they’ll take him out.   
That wasn’t his plan anymore, though.  
Aziraphale was… refreshing. She wasn’t like any women Crowley had met before (not that he met many, mostly just girls from work) but he had liked talking to her. He hadn’t let her notice, though. He had been as obnoxious as possible, but she had stayed calm, forever smiling (even if it looked quite forced) and always polite. And she had retorted to every insult he had thrown at her in a witty manner (or had completely ignored him), not even once losing her temper.  
An interesting woman, to say at least.  
He sat down on his couch, a glass of whisky in his hand. He looked around his apartment and sighed. He knew his bosses were expecting him back at the office so he could report his findings, but he didn’t feel like it. Besides, it was nearly 9 pm. He should go to sleep.  
He checked his phone. As he expected, he had 3 missed calls from “Office”, 2 from “Hastur”, 5 from “Ligur” and a text from Scarlett. He opened the message.  
Where are you? Hastur is going ballistic and you’re missing all the fun!!!  
He rolled his eyes. Trust Scarlett to find their boss yelling at everyone for everything to find it amusing.  
Well, all the more reason to go to bed.  
He sent one last text to Scarlett, letting her know he wasn’t coming back and asking her to get him as much information as possible rewarding Aziraphale Engel. Then he finished his drink and went to bed.  
It had been a long day.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Crowley woke up early and checked his phone. He had another 5 missed calls from Hastur and an email. Once more he ignored the calls and opened his e-mail.  
It was from Ligur and it contained all the information Hell had on Aziraphale Engel.  
Capitan Aziraphale Engel, apparently.  
Interesting. So Heaven had sent some higher-up. Huh. He bet they would be most disappointed when they looked for Crowley’s record. Crowley’s almost non-existent record.  
He knew what they would think. They would think that Hell had sent some random minion to do the job when they had sent a Capitan for the meeting. Heaven will be furious. He smirked. All as well then…  
It wasn’t that Crowley wasn’t a higher-up. It was just that he wasn’t technically in Hell’s Field Division. He was on the Spying Division and his rank was more or less the same as Aziraphale’s, but of course Heaven might never find that out. Keeping a low profile was part of the job description, after all.  
He skimmed through Aziraphale’s record. Aged 28, no-family, member of Heaven for 8 years. Single, but engaged. He almost had a heart attack when he read to whom she was engaged.  
Metatron’s-soon-to-be-wife. Who would have thought? He certainly couldn’t picture her married to Heaven’s Field Division Director. Huh. Nop, he definitely couldn’t picture that.  
Well, all the more reason for Heaven to be angry at Hell’s choice of envoy.  
He smirked once more and kept on reading. It was quite impressive. Aziraphale was even more talented and resourceful as he had originally thought. The more he read, the more he liked her.  
But of course, the more he read, the more unsure he became about them continuing to meet. He might never see her again; maybe Heaven would decide that Hell wasn’t being serious enough about this Agreement. Oh well… that wasn’t his fault, was it? And it wasn’t as if he wanted to see her again. If needed, he could work with her. But he wasn’t looking forward it.  
Nop. Not looking forward at all.


	3. Second meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second meeting is held and Aziraphale worries she might be starting to like her "enemy" a little too much...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here’s a new chapter. I’m a little upset by the lack of response this fic has had but… well, I really wanted to write this story so I guess I’ll keep on writing.  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“So, Heaven decided to continue with this, huh?”  
Aziraphale looked up from her book and stared at Crowley “Why wouldn’t we?”  
“Well, Capitan Engel, I assumed your people might have gotten slightly angry at the fact that you actually have a rank and I don’t”  
“Oh, that” Aziraphale closed her book and put it away while Crowley took seat in front of her “Well, James was pretty angry. But I convinced him we should keep up with this” she smiled “you read my record?”  
“Of course” answered Crowley, smirking at her “Quite impressive, I must say”  
“Not nearly as impressive as yours, Mr. Serpent” Crowley stared at her as if she had grown a second head. Aziraphale smirked “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t supposed to know that?”  
“How did you…?”  
“I did my homework” she said, still smirking “Took me a while to figure it out, but I managed. You’ve certainly got a certain… signature”  
“I’m impressed” Crowley stated, leaning back on his seat “even more impressed I was after reading your record”  
“I’m good at my job, Crowley”  
“Oh, no. If you were good at your job, you’d figured it out somewhere around our 10th meeting. Figuring out after just a meeting? That’s bloody brilliant Zira!”  
“Don’t call me that”  
He rolled his eyes “So, what should I call you then? Capitan Engel?”  
“That would be nice”  
“Yeah. That’s why I’m not doing it” he argued. Aziraphale just keep staring at him “anyway, let’s talk about something else” he waited for the waiter who had just appeared to finish pouring him some tee and took a sip “this thing is horrid”  
“It is” Aziraphale agreed, with a soft smile “Maybe we should change the meeting place”  
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. There’s a nice bistro just around the corner…”  
“It’s a closed space” Aziraphale interrupted and Crowley arched an eyebrow.  
“Really? You’re going to keep on drinking this god-awful tee so we can keep on meeting on an open space?”  
Aziraphale thought about it for a minute “there’s a nice sushi restaurant in SoHo that I like. It’s almost lunch time, so maybe…”  
“SoHo, really? Do I look like someone who can be talked into going to SoHo?”  
Aziraphale scoffed “Right. I forgot. Mr. Fancy Pants wouldn’t be caught dead in SoHo” she rolled her eyes while Crowley glared at her and then she took another sip of her tee, making a face “well; I’m out of options, then”  
“What? Do you spend all your time around SoHo?”  
Aziraphale shrugged, blushing a little “I like to stay in the neighborhood”  
“You don’t live in SoHo” he argued “which reminds me, why is your address listed at the same as the Archangels?”  
“My listed address is not necessary my actual address, you know? I moved out of Michel’s a while ago” she smiled “SoHo is a perfectly nice neighborhood”  
“Yeah. I’m sure it is. You’re still not dragging me there” Crowley looked around, thinking “we could always meet at St. James. How does the duck pond sounds?”  
“Humph. I guess it’ll do” Aziraphale nodded “we’ll meet there next time, alright? Now, shall we get down to business?”  
There were thousands of things that Crowley wanted to ask Aziraphale: his curiosity had been certainly picked by her figuring out exactly who he was but… well, he’d ask later.  
They had time, after all.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
That night, back at her home, Aziraphale sat in her battered bed, writing her newest report on her meeting with Crowley. She was amazed how easy it came talking to the enemy’s agent. It was odd, really, she never felt that much at ease with anyone.   
After she told him she had figured out he was the Serpent, he had treated her with a renewed respect. He was still irritating and made fun of her every time he could, but she could tell that was all part of his personality. It was obvious he behaved like that always and it wasn’t personal.  
She reread her report. They had spent 5 hours talking and yet, her report was barely a page long. That might have been because they had ended discussing their respective housing ideas. It had been an almost friendly banter, each pointing out the benefits of their neighborhoods. She had no idea how they had managed that.  
She hadn’t liked him after their first meeting. But now… it just seemed so easy. And that was dangerous. Much more dangerous than anything else. She could handle a silly crush on a horrid man who was just too handsome for his own sake. However, this… connection?  
It was beyond dangerous.  
She had to watch herself. It wouldn’t do to get to friendly with the enemy. It might be his plan; getting her to relax around him so he could strike. Aziraphale wouldn’t be fooled.   
She was good at her job. She was bloody brilliant at it. She wouldn’t get side-tracked. She’d carry on with her assignment and she would not get attached to an enemy.  
No matter how charming and handsome he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment!


	4. Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds Aziraphale more and more interesting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here’s a new chapter. Still no reviews… I’m kinda sad. But I guess that the fact that I keep updating just proves how much I want to keep on writing this. I mean, I have a couple of other fics that readers keep asking me to update but inspiration just won’t come… Well, that’s how inspiration works, I guess.  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

The woman sitting in front of him and the woman that Hell’s records paint, are two completely different women. Aziraphale is soft spoken, sweet, funny. Capitan Engel is strong, fearless and even heartless. The tales of her abandoning fellow members of Heaven when on a mission, all for the greater good, are legendary. However, Crowley can’t imagine her leaving someone to their fate. Aziraphale seems incapable of hurting anyone, less alone murdering in cold blood.  
And yet…  
As she laughs at one of his jokes, Crowley ponders just who exactly is this girl. By now, four months after their first meeting, he’s beyond impressed. She has a way of reading between the lines that never ceases to amaze him. The things she can figure out based on his most pointless comments… He imagines her reports on their meetings are long, detailed and full of important things and yet, he can’t bring himself to remember ever telling her something of great importance. However, somehow, she knows.  
It’s a bit unnerving.  
She smiles and he finds himself, once more, gazing at her lips. Her very soft looking lips. There’s certain softness about her: in her eyes, her smiles, her body. But it’s all a pretense, because there’s more about Aziraphale than meets the eye. She possesses a sharpness that it’s impossible to imagine based just on her looks. There’s also something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface: something that drags Crowley in like nothing before. There’s no point in denying it: he likes Aziraphale Engel more than what’s prudent.  
“You know Zira, you don’t strike me as an agent of Heaven. You seem more like the scholar type” he says and he has to fight back his impulse of kissing her when she puckers her lips.  
“Well… before I joined Heaven, I was doing a Major in English Literature. But it just seemed so… dull. I wanted to do something more with my life. Something meaningful” she smirks and Crowley has to look away. He likes when she smiles, but he loves when she smirks. There’s something very… fetching about it “Here’s a fun fact. Do you know why our organizations are called Heaven and Hell?”  
She’s full of “fun facts” as she likes to call them and shares them at the most random moments. It’s easy to see she’s very well read and once again, that clashes with her image as one of Heaven’s most ruthless Capitans. Nothing about the way she talks or moves speaks of great strength or fighting ability and yet…  
“No, I don’t” Crowley shrugs “I’ve never taken much interest in history”  
“Well, you should, my dear boy” her use of endearments is distracting, especially when his stomach insist on flipping every time she calls him “dear”  
“Why should I? You know enough for both of us” he throws a piece of bread to a duck that has just approached them, trying to distract himself from the way Aziraphale is looking at him. It makes him feel strangely guilty to not share her interests.  
Aziraphale shrugs “Well, it’s something rather silly. The thing is, Hell’s founder was named Lucifer Diable. Very unfortunate name, if you ask me. So, anyway, a group of journalist decided that your organization’s original name (which I haven’t been able to find out, I guess it was lost) was too long, so they choose to call them “Hell”, making allusion to its founder name. So, when Heaven was founded, and considering their main goal was to wane Hell’s power…”  
“That’s stupid”  
Aziraphale laughed quietly “Rather silly, I think. The press has such strength… funny how our sides’ names weren’t even chosen by the founders”  
Crowley nods absent-mindly. His attention is focused on the way the sun reflects on Aziraphale’s hair and how young and innocent she looks…  
This is ridiculous. This whole “crush” on the enemy is beyond stupid. She’s not even pretty enough to justify his obsession with her.  
“Funny how, somehow, Heaven’s higher-ups names have some sort of angelic reference” Crowley points out and from the corner of his eye, he catches Aziraphale smirking again. Once more, he looks away quickly.  
“Yes. Odd, that”  
“The Metatron…”  
“Well, to be fair, James…”  
“The Archangels…”  
“Oh, when Michel told me his last name I thought he was kidding…”  
“Your last name… it’s angel in German, right?”  
“Right” Aziraphale nods, her smirk going wider “but that’s on purpose. Engel is not really my last name”  
“It isn’t?” he asks, confused, trying to remember if he has read anything rewarding Aziraphale having a false name.  
“No. Long story short, my family disowned me when I joined Heaven. I lost everything, including, of course, my last name”  
“Oh… But Aziraphale is your real name, isn’t it?”  
“Yes” she throws a piece of bread to the ducks, carefully avoiding Crowley’s gaze. He smirks “Well, there’s something I can work with”  
“Huh?” she asks, looking at him, her eyes wide and beautiful and Crowley has to fight back every instinct telling him to go ahead and just kiss her.  
“Your real name. I’m gonna find out what it is”  
Aziraphale chuckles “Well, you’re welcome to try my dear, but I sincerely doubt you’ll succeed. It’s been 12 years… I’m willing to bet my parents have managed to vanish every proof of my existence. As far they’re concerned, I was never even born”  
She doesn’t sound bitter; if anything, she sounds amused. Crowley finds it all very intriguing “Does anyone in Heaven knows your real name?”  
“Yes. James”  
“Ah, of course. I suppose is part of the information the fiancé is allowed to know”  
“Oh, no. He knows because we knew each other when we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools… all that”  
That explains her distaste for his fancy clothes and choice of neighborhood. If she grew up where the Metatron did, she must have been filthy rich “You’ve got any brothers or sisters?”  
“No. I was an only child. Hence my parents disappointment” she smiles “what about you?”  
“I have a half-sister. We… don’t get along” Aziraphale arches an eyebrow “Yeah… long story short, she promised our father she wouldn’t kill me as long as I stayed out of her way”  
It’s obvious Aziraphale is not sure if he’s kidding or not, so she doesn’t comment. He isn’t. His sister did try to kill him in the past, but nowadays she mostly just ignores him. It suits him just fine.  
“We should say goodbye” Aziraphale whispers, glancing at her watch “It’s late and I’ve got to go back to work”  
“Right” He offers her his hand and she takes it, smiling “maybe next time you’ll let me buy you lunch”  
“Maybe” she agrees “maybe you could take me to that nice little bistro close to our original meeting place”  
“It’s a date, then”  
Aziraphale seems torn between smiling and running away as fast as she can. Finally, she just shakes her head and starts walking away “See you around, dear”  
“Later, angel”  
He watched her go, a smile playing on his lips. It’s upsetting, really, how much he was grown to like these little meetings. He enjoys more talking to Aziraphale than talking to any other of his colleagues. He supposes it’s not a good thing.  
But Crowley can't bring himself to mind. After all, Aziraphale is far more interesting than anyone else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Thanks for reading, pretty please review?


	5. Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Hope you’ll like it…  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Aziraphale has never liked to be the center of attention. However, she finds herself the object of people’s attention far too often. Either because of her superb job (which she doesn’t mind that much), her rather unflattering clothing or because of her company.  
She’s not sure how does that happen, but she finds herself constantly in company of very handsome men.  
She knows she isn’t the prettiest girl. Still, it’s uncomfortable the looks she receives whenever she goes out with her fiancé, or her boss, or her “enemy”…  
The women sitting in front of them have been eying Crowley the whole evening. Aziraphale doesn’t like it; regardless of their supposed “enmity”, she likes Crowley. And not only in the “friendship” sense. But what really bothers her is the way the women look at her, like she’s some sort of disgusting bug, not worth noticing, less alone spending time with her. They keep trying to catch Crowley’s attention; sometimes in subtle ways and sometimes… in not so subtle ways.  
Like right now, when one of them “drops” something, stands up to retrieve it and makes sure to bend in such a way that her ample bosom is well on display and in Crowley’s line of sight.  
It’s just downright rude.  
Crowley snickers at her distaste. He has noticed the women attempts to get his attention, but he’s ignoring them. His whole focus is on Aziraphale and she feels rather flattered, especially considering she’s wearing a ridiculously big sweater with some horrendous jeans. She sometimes feels like dressing up for their meetings, but changes her mind right away; she’s working, not trying to pick Crowley up.  
Not that she thinks she would succeed, if she tried.  
“Can I ask you something rather… personal?” he asks, swirling his glass of wine, looking rather hesitant, which makes Aziraphale feel rather nervous. She nods, just once, wondering what does he want to ask that he feels needs so much ceremony “how does a girl like you end up engaged to the Metatron?”  
She frowns, her lips becoming a very thin line. She has been asked this before. She has read tabloids asking the very same question. How does a girl like her- unattractive, unglamorous, plain- gets a man like James “Metatron” Good, who’s handsome, powerful and rich? She has learned to deal with the slightly offensive question, but somehow it hurts more when Crowley is the one asking.  
“It’s a long story” she says, trying to keep her anger and hurt at bay “we were high-school sweethearts”  
Crowley snorts at that and Aziraphale can’t help to smile. She loves every little noise he makes; it’s amazing how many things he manages to convey with each sound he makes “we got engaged when I was 16. But then… he went to college and… well, we sort of stopped seeing each other”  
Crowley nods and she thinks of what else should she tell him. Should she tell him about what really happened with her parents? They real reason they had to call their engagement off? Of how James invited her to join Heaven afterwards? Of how thankful she felt towards her fiancé for helping her to pick up the pieces her life became shortly after she turned 18 even if he did break up with her?  
No. That was too private. She might have told him, if he hadn’t phrased his question the way he had, but right then she felt vulnerable and really didn’t want to share so much with him “I joined Heaven when I was 19. I started working on the Field Division and one day we got sent to a mission. We… well, we got captured and we were certain we were going to die… so, James started going on about how much he had always liked me and how sorry he was he broke up our engagement and he told me that, if we made it out alive of that whole mess, he would marry me”  
Crowley arches his eyebrows, an ironic smile playing on his lips and Aziraphale smiles “So, that night, I… well, one of the guards thought it would be easy to have his way with me, so he takes me out of my cell… and I punch the living lights out of him. I took his keys, opened James’ cell and we ran away. A week after, I found an engagement ring sitting on my desk”  
“How romantic”  
Aziraphale laughs, but it’s bitter “That’s what I thought. I tried to talk him out of it; I understood we were on a rather stressing situation. But James said that he didn’t feel obligated in any way but… he wanted to” she has to smile at the memory. It certainly was really sweet. Even if she and James weren’t in love…  
“So, let me get this straight. You’re marrying him because you saved his life? How does that work?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, seems to me, you’re getting the short end of the stick. I mean, he gets a beautiful, talented, smart, resourceful wife, who can save his sorry ass whenever necessary and what do you get? A self-centered, righteous, full of himself bastard?”  
Aziraphale feels torn between defending her fiancé and enjoying Crowley’s words. Did he notice all the nice things he said about her? He probably does, considering he looks away after finishing his speech and his cheeks became a rather lovely shade of red. “You’re blushing”  
“Yes, well… I’m drunk”  
She doesn’t press it. She knows Crowley never intended to let her know he thinks all those things about her. If he didn’t look so embarrassed, she would have thought he was lying. But the words are so heartfelt and he looks so ashamed she knows he does think them.  
She has never felt more flattered in her life.  
So she beams at him. She doesn’t smile, she beams. Crowley looks even more sheepish and she hurries to change the topic. After all, they are supposed to be discussing business, no their opinions on each other.  
However, she does sit a little bit straighter and she shots the women in the other table a triumphing smile. Crowley smiles too, even if his is a little unsure. Yet they carry on as if nothing had happened.  
But something has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? This story makes perfect sense in my head, but somehow I just don’t feel it translates so well when I try to write it down… It might have something to do with the fact that sometimes I plan some parts in Spanish and when I try to write them in English… it’s complicated.  
> Thanks for reading! Comments, anyone???


	6. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the previous chapter, Crowley and Aziraphale continue their "meeting", end up a little drunk and things keep on changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter… enjoy!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Admittedly, he might have drunk a little too much. But it was Aziraphale’s fault. If she hadn’t… well, if she hadn’t look so self-depreciating after he had asked her how had she ended up engaged to the Metatron, he wouldn’t have told her what he thought about her, totally embarrassing himself and therefore being force to drink so much trying to forget. But it was silly, really. How could she even think she didn’t deserve that jerk? She deserved so much more! Who wouldn’t want her? Who, on his right mind, wouldn’t want her?  
That was the biggest problem. He wanted her. He desperately wanted her. And if it was just in a sexual way, it wouldn’t have been too much of a problem. He knew he was good-looking enough and was blessed with a silver tongue for him to have any girl he wanted. But he wanted so much more from Aziraphale…  
It was all very dangerous. And yet, he found himself not minding at all.  
“Let me drive you home” he offered, seeing she was just as intoxicated as he was. Aziraphale looked at him appraisingly and frowned lightly “You’re driving? Like this?”  
“Why not?”  
“You’re drunk” she stated and he rolled his eyes.  
“I’ve noticed. I can still drive”  
“I sincerely doubt it”  
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I? If I’m sober enough to hold up a conversation, I can definitely drive”  
“I think driving requires a little more coordination than talking” she argued, suddenly taking his hand and effectively silencing all further protests “Come on, we’ll get a cab”  
“I don’t like cabs…” he complained, but let her guide him. Her hand felt warm in his and he never wanted to let go. Huh. He must be very drunk to even be thinking that.  
“Think of all those poor other drivers you could harm… or worse, the pedestrians…”  
“Don’t care. I’m driving”  
“Come on, dear. Don’t be difficult. Let’s get a cab, we’ll go to your place and finish what we started, huh? How does that sound?”  
Sounded too good to be true. Had he passed out drunk and was now dreaming? Aziraphale couldn’t be suggesting what he thought she was suggesting… “Finish what we started?”  
“Getting ridiculously drunk”  
“Oh. Right” yep, definitely not what he was thinking “sounds like a plan” he still smiled, because he was taking her to his home and… well, once they were inside his apartment, all the bets were off. This would definitely stop being a business meeting.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
They were now sitting in the back of the cab, their bodies far closer than what was necessary. It was nice, Crowley thought, and maybe it wasn’t so bad not having taken his own car. Their thighs wouldn’t be pressing so close together if he had been driving…  
Aziraphale rested her head on his shoulder and Crowley let out a satisfied hiss. He tended to do that: hiss when he was drunk. Or extremely satisfied. He wasn’t sure which case was this one.  
She looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips and he looked away. He wouldn’t ruin the night by kissing her. She was starting to trust him; he could tell by all the small concessions she made: meeting on a closed space, drinking, going to his place…  
The scary thing was that he trusted her too. Showing an enemy agent where you live was a very stupid thing to do. But he didn’t mind. He couldn’t think of Aziraphale as an enemy, and that was even scarier. He would be in deep trouble if someone figured out he enjoyed their little meetings more than he should. That he sometimes babbled things he really shouldn’t. That he wasn’t reporting all the things Aziraphale told him, because he knew she wasn’t thinking straight when she shared them with him.  
They’ve been meeting for 10 months by now, but somehow it feels so right… like they’ve known each other since forever…  
Why does he keep thinking all those mushy things?!  
“We’re here” he announced, the cab finally pulling in front of his building.  
“Mayfair?” Aziraphale asks, looking around and recognizing their surroundings “figures”  
He smirks at her and offers her his hand to get out the cab. She takes it and exits the automobile much more gracefully that she ought to, considering how much they’ve been drinking. Still, she almost trips after a couple of steps and Crowley hurries to help her to regain her balance. They end up walking towards the building leaning heavily on each other.  
It’s awfully nice.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“I have to admit, Zira, you can hold your alcohol better than anyone that I’ve ever known” he slurs drunkenly, his words barely understandable. Aziraphale glances at her glass of wine, notices it’s empty and refills it, trying to spill as little as possible.  
“You realize this” she gestures vaguely at themselves and at the empty glasses between them “it’s very dangerous”  
“How so?” he asks, not really paying attention as he attempts to refill his glass. Finally, Aziraphale takes pity on him and helps him.  
“We’re enemies, Crowley. We shouldn’t… get drunk in each other company”  
“Umm” Crowley nods, absent-mindly “Yeah, dangerous. More dangerous for you than for me”  
“How so?” she asks, genuinely perplexed and Crowley smiles like as a snake. And also quick as one, he moves from his side to the couch to Aziraphale’s side, pinning her down and spilling all of her wine on his carpet.  
“I hold my wine even better that you” he whispers darkly against her ear, all his previous hesitation forgotten. Aziraphale just stares at him, not looking even slightly worried. Instead, she smiles too.  
“Is that so?”  
He doesn’t know how does it happen, but suddenly he finds himself flat on his back, Aziraphale on top of him, her legs holding him on place and the tip of a dagger against his throat “Don’t underestimate me, dear. Nobody who has ended up well”  
She stands up on unsteady legs and plops on the couch. Crowley stares at her, mesmerized. The more he knows her, the more she manages to surprise him.  
And allure him.  
She’s fascinating.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
They drink and drink and soon enough, they can barely keep on talking. They basically babble incoherently while the other nods enthusiastically and they break down on giggles every now and then. However, Crowley can’t remember ever feeling his good. He knows there’ll be hell to pay tomorrow morning, when they’ll both wake up with awful headaches and upsets stomachs but right now…  
It doesn’t matter.  
Nothing matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Too OOC? Can’t really write drunken scenes… my English is not good enough for that. LOL. Thanks for reading!!


	7. Morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visit makes takes even more complicated for Crowley and Aziraphale...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter!! Hope you’ll enjoy.  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

What she finds more unnerving is how much she has come to trust the enemy’s agent in the few months of their association. She doesn’t trust easily, it’s just not in her nature. However, there’s a certain… affinity with Crowley that makes it so easy to trust him…  
Which is a very stupid thing to do, that’s for certain.  
However, here she is, after 10 months of meetings, waking up with an awful headache, sprawled on Crowley’s bed, with him firmly pressed against her side. She has never, not even once, gotten drunk with Michel (or, God forbid, James) and yet… here she is.  
She groans and tries to sit up. Crowley protests and his grip on her waist tightens, but Aziraphale barely notices. She looks around the room, taking into account the state of her surroundings. There are a couple of glasses on the night table, half filled. The bed is messy, with the sheets tangled around their feet. Her sweater is missing and also most of Crowley’s clothes (actually, he’s only wearing his boxers), but she’s wearing enough clothes to feel confident that nothing else happened. That’s good: worse than waking up next to her enemy, would be waking up next to the enemy, after having had sex with him.  
She got out of bed, after wrestling with Crowley’s arms wrapped around her middle. He’s surprisingly strong for someone so thin, especially considering he’s asleep. She remembers fragments of the night before: she remembers him on top of her, pinning her to the couch and her pulse quickens. She also remembers pushing him off; basically straddling him and her trying to play it cool afterwards.  
This is bad. So bad.  
She picks up her purse and fishes out her phone. No missed calls, no texts. Good thing last night she had enough presence of mind to think of sending Michel a text, letting him know she was fine, but tired and that she wouldn’t go back to the office.  
She wondered how long she could keep up with this. This was no longer a business relationship. There was something deeper growing between her and Crowley, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t want to know either. It was far too scary.  
She went to the kitchen, trying to hunt down something to eat. Her mouth had an awful taste and she was thirsty. She opened the fridge and found a carton of milk. An open carton of milk that smelled funny. She made a face and throw it out.  
Well, she better find her sweater and go get something to eat. Crowley didn’t seem inclined to leave bed anytime soon and she was hungry. Sighing, she took Crowley’s keys that were lying on top of the kitchen table, found her sweater lying underneath the couch (she didn’t want to know how it had ended there) and went out.  
She would come back later, after she had some coffee. And some headache pills.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
When she comes back, Crowley is still asleep. Aziraphale rolls her eyes and sits on the edge of the bed, gazing down at her “enemy”. He looks even more handsome now; it should be illegal to be this handsome. She has woken up with her fair share of attractive men, but she has never found herself so mesmerized by someone. She sighs. This is so messy…  
She thinks of calling her fiancé and asking if he would like to go out for lunch. She knows she won’t do it; James would suspect she has done something she’s feeling guilty about. He won’t confront her, of course, but he’ll know something is up. And she doesn’t want that. Besides, she hardly did anything…  
She was just drinking out with her enemy. Still, it’s not like she cheated or something…  
She’s many things, but a cheater she isn’t. However, this… closeness she shares with Crowley feels a bit like cheating. Only it’s worse, because they’re not supposed to even like each other. And yet…  
“Morning sleeping beauty” she quips, nudging him gently, in an effort to stop thinking about her ever growing attraction. Crowley groans and rolls around, his back at her. Aziraphale rolls her eyes and places the coffee cup she has brought with her on the nightstand “I’ll just leave this here, then. I’m going to take a shower”  
She picks up her purse and goes to the bathroom. She undresses calmly, while the water heatens and tries to clear up her mind. Everything is so confusing… She shouldn’t have gone home with Crowley. She shouldn’t have drink as much as she had. She shouldn’t be feeling half of the things she was feeling, but…  
She hears the apartment door being open. She tenses immediately. What’s going on? Did Crowley lure her into a trap? Are there enemy agents standing outside, ready to abduct her?  
She forces herself to calm down. She’s being paranoid. If Crowley was trying to lure her into a trap, he wouldn’t have gotten so drunk. Besides, the would-be-abductors would have arrived earlier. She wouldn’t have been able to go out, get some coffee and come back to the apartment.  
This must be an unscheduled meeting- because Crowley wouldn’t have gotten so drunk if he knew he was going to have visitors the next day (or so she thinks). Still, she supposes it won’t do if his bosses or associates find her here.  
Sighing, Aziraphale finishes showering. She’ll have to improvise. She steps out of the shower and hunts for the “disguise” she always carries on her purse. She’s glad she’s always prepared for emergencies, regardless of how silly is to carry around all the stuff she carries around (or so Michel says)  
She starts dressing. When she’s finished, she looks at herself in the mirror and smiles.  
Perfect. She’s unrecognizable.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Crowley is happily asleep when someone hits him with a pillow. He groans and sits up, glaring at his attacker. Then he takes notice of his surroundings and tries to suppress the feeling of dread clawing its way across his back. Hastur and Ligur are standing next to his bed, Aziraphale’s and his glass are still on the night table and there’s no sign of his “enemy” anywhere near.  
“Ah… hi guys. Fancy meeting you here, at this ungodly hour…”  
“It’s 11 in the morning, Crawly” Hastur argues, making Crowley glare. He hates when they call him that, but he suspects that’s the reason Hastur does it “we needed to see you”  
“Ah, well…”  
“We were expecting you last night” Ligur continues, his tone low and dangerous “as always, you failed to come back to the office after your meeting”  
“Ah, well, the thing is…”  
They’re interrupted by the sound of the bathroom’s door opening. Crowley glances at it apprehensively and then stares at the person standing at the threshold confusedly. Who’s this woman?  
“Well, sweetheart, I was beginning to worry” she says, an ironic smiling playing on her lips “I was worried I was a little too rough on you last night”  
“Ah… I… what…?”  
“My, my, Crowley. So this is what you were doing last night?” Hastur asks, leering at the pretty brunette standing in front of them. The woman smiles pleasantly “You could have told us. You should be more… sharing”  
Crowley makes a face, thinking that the last thing he would ever do is share a female companion with his bosses but… well, some people in Hell are seriously messed up.  
“That would increase my rate” the female argues amicably “So; can I have my money now, Mr. Crowley?”  
“I… what?” he asks, his brain still half asleep and unable to process what’s going on in his apartment.  
“It’ll be £300, please” she continues, still smiling.  
“What?!”  
“I did explain you my rates last night, Mr. Crowley”  
“I don’t even remember a thing”  
“Not my problem you were drunk, Mr. Crowley” she argues, a playful smirk on her lips “come on, pay up”  
He glares but stands up to retrieve his wallet. Hastur and Ligur are still leering at the pretty brunette, but she ignores them. Crowley offers her the money and when she tries to take it, he holds it back “For this amount of money, don’t I get at least a goodbye kiss?”  
Aziraphale glares at him and he smirks. Her “green” eyes sparkle with fury, but finally she concedes “Alright. One kiss”  
He steps closer and places his hands around her waist. She’s still glaring at him, but he doesn’t feel slightly guilty. She got herself in this mess. She should have tried to find other meanings of escape, that didn’t involve posing as a whore (an anyway, where did she find that disguise?)  
Her lips are as soft as they look and she surprises him by the enthusiasm she puts in the kiss. She’s quite skilled at it too and he finds himself carving for more. He pulls her closer and she doesn’t protest. She opens her mouth and lets his tongue explore it.  
It’s over all too soon.  
“Thank you, Mr. Crowley” she states, taking his money and placing it on her purse “gentlemen” she continues, nodding her head as she walks toward the door. Ligur and Hastur are still staring at her lasciviously, but she either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.  
Crowley can’t really think straight.  
That was one hell of a kiss.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Aziraphale hurries out of the building and walks into the first restaurant she finds. She locks herself into the restroom and proceeds to take off her disguise.  
She takes of her brunette wig and runs her fingers through her short blond hair. She manages to take off her green contacts without the help of a mirror and takes off her tight fitting dress, her high heels, her push up bra and her corset.  
She redresses with her big sweater and her horrendous jeans. She always feels ridiculous wearing her disguise, but she admits it’s very practical. Men don’t tend to look at your face when they’re too busy staring at your rack.  
She places a hand over her lips. That kiss… god, why did she do it? She must have been feeling suicidal or something… It’s Crowley’s fault, really. He should have seen the precarious situation she was in (that they were in, actually) and make it easy for her. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t have asked for such high amount of money…  
She smiles and looks at the bills Crowley handed her. She supposes she’ll have to get him something; giving the money back just doesn’t seem right. Perhaps a nice bottle of wine that they could share…  
Better stop right there. She can’t do this again. From now on, no more personal topics would be discussed, there’d be no more drinking and definitely no more kissing.  
She just hope she’ll be strong enough to fight temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what did you think? I’m a little confused with the tenses, my English grammar has gotten worse over the years… Any mistakes you find, feel free to point them out.  
> Thanks for reading. Comments, anyone? Pretty please?


	8. The next meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a little awkward on their next meeting... but everything keeps on progressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new chapter! You probably should go back to the last one, I made a small modification, because I overlooked a “small” detail. You’ll understand when you read it.  
> Anyway, Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“I specifically asked for a brunette” Crowley states while Aziraphale sits in front of him. The waiter eyes her curiously while she blushes a little but quickly dismiss it. He hands them the menu and leaves them alone.  
“Shut up, will you?”  
“Now, now, that’s not the way to address a customer. Really, sweetheart…”  
“Shut up Crowley. I’m not kidding”  
Crowley laughs. He figured the best approach would be to make a joke out of their last encounter. He certainly doesn’t want to address the feelings their little kiss awoke in him. He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s been thinking about her non-stop; that he wants to kiss her again and again and again…  
Alright. Better stop thinking that.  
“So, will your pretty brunette friend be joining us?”  
“Sorry to disappoint” she says, darkly “it’s just me tonight”  
They waiter is back and eying them curiously again, but when Crowley glares at him, he hurries to fill their glasses of wine and goes away “Well, never mind. I like you better anyway”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her wine. He stares at her lips; it’s impossible not to. Not now, when he knows exactly how they feel against his…  
Really, he needs to stop thinking like that.  
He snatches her purse and Aziraphale tries to take it back, but he holds it out of her reach until she huffs, frustrated and let him have it. Crowley smirks and starts pouring its contents on the table. Aziraphale looks mildly horrified, but doesn’t protest.  
“How can you even carry this?” he argues, examining her items. It includes the brunette wig, along with a different tight dress and high heels shoes. A small bag contains cosmetics and her contact lenses. Another bags contains undergarments that Crowley hurries to ignore (the last thing he needs it’s to start imagining Aziraphale wearing anything other than her current unappealing clothes) There are also a couple of tick books “it’s darn heavy”  
Aziraphale shrugs “Maybe. But I prefer to be prepared”  
Crowley nods “So, does every member of Heaven carries around a full-disguise?”  
“Not everyone. Although I certainly always advice my interns to” she takes another sip of her drink while Crowley places the items back into her purse “Michel thinks it’s silly”  
He shrugs “Complicated, maybe. But not silly” she beams at him and he looks back at her purse. He also doesn’t need to become even more enthralled by the woman in front of him “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” he asks and immediately after scolds himself. He shouldn’t be bringing up this topic… “I wouldn’t have taken your fiancé for a good kisser” He tried to make some amends, but that’s even worse…  
“You’d be surprised” Aziraphale argues, a secretive smile on her lips, apparently not noticing Crowley’s discomfort, nor his scowl at her comment “but it’s not like he has been my only teacher” she keeps on smiling, baiting him and Crowley hates it, but he takes the bait.  
“My, my, Capitan Engel. Such a naughty girl you’re turning out to be”  
“Hardly” she argues, leaning back on her seat “but I’m not as virginal as you seem to think” he blushes lightly but hurries to hide it. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice “anyway, I’ve got something for you”  
She takes a small box out of her purse that Crowley failed to notice. He arches an eyebrow, but opens it. Inside, there’s a leather bracelet, with a small gold snake entwined “Wow. This looks expensive”  
“A little over £300” Aziraphale responds, smirking. He rolls his eyes.  
“Really, Zira… I would have settled for another kiss”  
It’s her turn to blush and Crowley can’t help to smirk some more, even if he feels like blushing too “Well, I… I didn’t know that was an option” she stammers but recovers quickly “I’ll keep it mind, next time”  
“There’ll be a next time?”  
“Who knows?” she asks, shrugging “Do your bosses make a habit of dropping unannounced at your apartment?”  
So she’s not opposed to the idea of spending the night at his apartment again “I’ll change the locks”  
Aziraphale laughs and he joins her. He puts on his new bracelet, admiring it. It certainly looks great and fits him very well “Thank you, Zira”  
“You’re welcome”  
And that’s the end of that. At least for now.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Their meeting goes well, but conversation feels a bit strained. Crowley curses himself inwardly; he has managed to ruin whatever was blossoming between them because he couldn’t get a hold of his messy emotions.  
He knows they were in a delicate situation and if his superiors had known who the pretty brunette in his apartment really was, they would have been in deep trouble. He should have let her go without making a fuss. But he couldn’t help himself; he wanted…  
All is pointless now, though. Thanks to his own stupidity, all he’ll ever have from Aziraphale will be the memory of a kiss. They will continue to meet (it’s part of their jobs, after all) but that’s all. It’s such a pity; when their reunion began he had such high hopes, especially after she gave him his gift…  
Did it counted as a gift, considering she had bought it with his money?  
“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep thinking so hard” Aziraphale says, getting his attention back. For the last 10 minutes he has been staring (glaring, really) at his now empty plate. He feels like blushing, but forces himself not to. It’s ridiculous, really. How can she have this effect on him? This isn’t him! Why is he torturing himself with thoughts of things that will never be? There’s no point. Sure, he likes Aziraphale, but he must realize this isn’t going anywhere. Even if he hadn’t ruined it all after their last meeting… “Crowley, are you okay?”  
She places a hand over his and he immediately jerks away. Aziraphale looks surprised and she retreats her hand, folding it primly on her lap. He sighs “I’m sorry. I’m just… distracted”  
“If you say so…” she whispers, glancing at her watch and Crowley bites down a groan. It’s too early. He doesn’t want to go back to the office yet (or at all) but now that they’ve run out of business topics to discuss, things between them are getting more and more tense.  
“Leaving so soon?” he asks her, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.  
“I… I think I should” Aziraphale responds, glancing at her now empty glass of wine “but I don’t want to”  
The last part is a barely audible whisper and Crowley almost thinks he imagined it, but the way she’s looking at him tells him it’s not just wishful thinking “I… listen Zira, I’m sorry about… well, everything. I know you were just trying to save my ass and I was a total jerk”  
Aziraphale huffs and shakes her head, good-naturedly “Never mind, dear. I guess we’re both to blame” she pats his hand awkwardly and he hurries to grasp it before she can retreat. She looks at their entwined hands and for a while, none of them make a sound.  
“Anyway, as I always say, let the bygones be bygones” she says, pulling her hand back, smiling unsurely at him and he returns the smile, even if he’s still a bit unsure about where are they standing “Tell me; who were those “gentlemen” back at your apartment?”  
Crowley huffs. “Gentlemen” isn’t certainly the word he would use… “Hastur and Ligur Duke. They’re my… well, technically, only Hastur is my boss, but Ligur feels entitled to boss me around too” he shrugs “creepy, aren’t they?”  
“Very” Aziraphale nods enthusiastically “From the moment I walked into the room… argh, it’s just gross the way they were staring at me”  
He laughs “Your own fault, really. I would have never even imagined you owned such tight fitting clothes”  
“Well, it’s all part of the disguise. It’s not like I make a habit of wearing them on daily basis”  
“Maybe you should”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes “It’s very uncomfortable. I have to use a very restricting corset to fit in those dresses”  
“So, your waist isn’t that small?”  
“Of course not! Didn’t you notice?”  
“When would I…?”  
And suddenly he remembers. Aziraphale complaining it being too hot in his apartment and then she had taken off her sweater, before proceeding to get rid of his shirt…  
He gulps. It’s a very tempting image.  
And they’re back at things being awkward between them “You know, I think we should promise to never mention that night again” Aziraphale suggest, a soft blush tainting her cheeks. Actually, her blush expands all across her cheeks and neck and maybe even lower…  
Alright, he needs to stop thinking like that.  
“Yes. Right. Forget about it”  
Easier said than done.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
This time they don’t get ridiculously drunk and Crowley doesn’t offer to drive her home. Things are still a bit shaky between them and he knows better than to pressure things. Still, he can’t help to feel terribly lonely after entering his apartment.  
He enters his room and looks around. There are many things he doesn’t remember about that night, but he knows for sure they didn’t do anything. He remembers Aziraphale taking off her sweater and helping him out of his own clothes (his coordination failed him and after at least 10 attempts of unbuttoning his shirt, Aziraphale had taken pity of him and helped him) and then they just keep on drinking…  
He starts undressing and as soon as he takes off his shirt, his hand goes to the old scar just below his heart. He remembers Aziraphale placing a hand over it, curious and remembers he refused to explain what had happened to him. She didn’t insist. Even drunk, she was very prudent.  
At some point he remembers helping each other to stand up and then collapsing on the ample bed. He remembers holding her close and that her hair smelled really nice. He remembers telling her that.  
He sits down on his bed and tries to remember something more, but fails. Sighing, he lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He finds himself thinking on Aziraphale on top of him, pinning him to the ground, the dagger against his neck. But it’s too easy to imagine it gone and picture her leaning down, kissing him, her hands traveling across his chest…  
He curses as he feels his body reacting at the image. He shouldn’t be thinking about this, but the truth is he has been fantasizing about the same scenario at least twice a week. Now a new image has joined, he now remembers Aziraphale extremely pale upper body, her slightly rounded stomach and her soft-looking breasts…  
“Damn” he whispers, his body reclaiming attention. He looks down at the rather impressive erection he’s now sporting and sighs. He really shouldn’t be doing this; he feels a little guilty about doing it, but what Aziraphale doesn’t know won’t hurt her (or enrage her) so he guesses it doesn’t matter.  
As he touches himself, he secretly hopes one day he’ll be able to act these fantasies out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Writing “sex” scenes, even as “light” as this last one, always makes me a little nervous and uncomfortable (I’m very prudish, I know)… It shows, doesn’t it?  
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!


	9. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since their first meeting, but when Crowley shows up with roses, Aziraphale is more than a little worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new chapter!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

She looks up from her book and arches an eyebrow. Crowley stares at her, somewhat bashfully. Still, he’s smirking, so Aziraphale is not quite sure if she is imagining his embarrassment or not.  
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at Crowley’s offer as if she’s afraid it’ll bite her. To be completely honest, the present makes her more nervous than she would care to admit. Crowley rolls his eyes.  
“Roses” he answers and it’s her turn to roll her eyes.  
“I know that” she argues, crossing her arms “what I mean is, why did you bring me flowers?”  
In her experience, men only brought her flowers when they did something that they shouldn’t have. But maybe she had just been dating the wrong kind of fellows. Then again, Crowley is her enemy (even if it is only for appearances’ sake) and had no business bringing her flowers at all.  
“I’m wounded, Zira” he says, still not taking a seat in front of her “you don’t remember our anniversary?”  
He’s making a big fuss and they’ve gotten the attention of a couple of customers of the restaurant. Again, women are eying Aziraphale likes she’s not worth anyone’s time and staring dreamingly at the “poor” man in front of her, still holding the large roses’ bouquet. Aziraphale sighs and takes the flowers “It’s not our anniversary” she argues darkly.  
“How can you say that?!” Damn, he has such a taste for drama. Aziraphale rolls her eyes again. True, they met a year ago, but an anniversary has other connotations, right? This is just… business.  
“Whatever” she whispers “sit down, will you? Stop making a show”  
“Oh, none of that, dear” he says, sarcastically, taking her hand and pulling her up although she tries to resist “get your things; we’re leaving”  
“What? Why?” she’s immediately more alert and checking their surroundings, looking for an imminent treat, ready to fight. Crowley rolls his eyes while he takes her arm and purposefully drags her out of the restaurant “I’m taking you somewhere nicer” he says, letting go off her arm, considering just how hard she’s trying to resist and all the attention they’re getting because of that.  
“Where?”  
Crowley smirks “The Ritz, of course”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Aziraphale looks around the restaurant. She has never in her life felt more ill-dressed for an occasion than now. Everyone is using such fancy clothes… She looks down at her outfit: she’s wearing a simple blouse and a pair of plain pants. It’s not one of her more horrendous outfits, but still…  
“I’ve got you a little something else” Crowley says, leaning close to her while they wait for their table to be ready and he offers her a small bag that she takes with little fuss. Inside there’s a change of clothes and while normally she wouldn’t be persuaded to wear something she didn’t buy herself… well, she supposes she’ll make an exception.  
“I’ll be back in a minute” she informs him, taking her purse along with her newly acquired clothing to the restroom. Once locked inside, she proceeds to inspect Crowley’s gift.  
It’s a simple yet elegant navy-blue dress. It’s fitted on the top and falls more loosely from her waist. She supposes it’ll fit her well.  
She considers putting on the corset she’s always carrying around but decides against it. She can’t eat wearing that thing. Sighing, she tries the dress on.  
Curiously, it fits her perfectly. She takes a little twirl, watching her reflection on the mirror and she smiles. She looks pretty. There’s also a pair of matching shoes inside the bag, with sensible heels. Once more she smiles; all in all it’s a really thoughtful gift.  
And that makes her feel uncomfortable. They’re supposed to be, in the best of cases, business partners. They’re supposed to tolerate each other. Not... not this. They’re not supposed to be doing this (whatever “this” is)  
She supposes they’ve crossed that line long ago. So it’s a little silly to keep worrying. She has to be careful and get a hold of the ever growing attraction towards her counterpart, but she can handle it. It shouldn’t be that hard.  
She fails to notice she has been telling herself the same for the last year.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“I can’t believe you’re leaving this early. On our anniversary!”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes while Crowley keeps on complaining. They’re outside the restaurant now, waiting for a cab to take her back to the office “I’m sorry” she says, somewhat sarcastically, but it comes through sounding really remorseful.  
“Ah, don’t be” Crowley sighs dramatically “You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you?”  
“Right. Because showing up at Heaven’s Headquarters with an enemy agent is the smart thing to do”  
“Well… I suppose I could drop you close by. If you want to”  
“No” she replies, feeling more than a little guilty for leaving so soon “It still doesn’t sound like an a smart idea”  
A cab finally stops in front of them and Aziraphale climbs into it “Thanks for the lunch, Crowley. And for the gifts. I’ll see you around”  
“Right” he says, dejectedly “see you in a month then” he closes the cab’s door and walks away. Azirphale sighs. She wishes she could have stayed a while more, but Michel wants to run with her some plan and she supposes she should humor her boss. Not that it couldn’t have waited till the next day but… well, maybe it’s better this way. Crowley had been behaving particularly charming the whole afternoon and she’s not sure what would have happened if she had agreed to accompany him to his apartment once more.  
She looks down at her dress and considers changing. It’ll be really unusual for her to show up at work wearing something other than pants. Besides, she always feels very self-conscious when she’s wearing a dress. She’s never been a very girly girl, so she feels odd. Also, she doesn’t like showing off her legs. Her thighs are a little too full and her calves a little too thin and… well, she just doesn’t like it.  
She takes her pants out of her purse and starts wrestling her way into them. The cab’s driver eyes her through the rearview mirror but promptly proceeds to ignore her and go back to driving. Once she has put on the pants, she takes off the dress and hurries to put on her blouse. It’s odd to be changing inside a moving cab, but she figures it’s for the best. The last thing she needs is people staring at her weirdly when she walks into Heaven.  
She debates with herself whether she ought to keep the flowers or not. She supposes they will earn her a few curious stares, but she can’t bring herself to get rid of them. They’re so pretty and Crowley gave them to her and you don’t throw away gifts…  
She exits the cab once they arrive to their destination and makes her way towards her office. As she walks in front of James’ office, she can see through the crystal doors him and Michel deep in discussion. Coincidentally, both look up at the same time and see her and a second later, they notice her flowers which make them frown. She smiles coyly and starts walking faster.  
She walks into her office and sighs once more. She’ll have some explaining to do.  
“Oh, they’re so pretty!”  
Aziraphale turns around to find herself face to face with her newest intern. She smiles at the girl, who’s staring at the roses with open curiosity “They’re so perfect, Capitan Engel! Who gave them to you? Was it…?”  
“Could you get me a vase for the flowers, Anathema?” she interrupts and avoids answering the girl’s question. She’s really not in the mood for explanations (she doesn’t even know what she could say) The other female smiles and nods enthusiastically, before disappearing to fetch the vase. Aziraphale sighs once more and plops on her chair.  
It’s been a tiring day.  
Anathema comes back, still smiling, carrying a vase. She places the roses in it carefully, smiling at Aziraphale. She smiles too and then dismisses the girl with a wave of her hand.  
She likes Anathema. She’s smart and enthusiastic and she could do great in Heaven. Just not on the Field Division. She knows this, she has been trying to persuade Anathema not to pursue a career in here, but the girl is quite headstrong. She’s set on becoming a Field Agent.  
She won’t make it. The final training will break her. She remembers it all too well; the last 6 months of her training were a nightmare: being half-starved, constantly beaten, mentally abused… very few recruits made it to the end. Most quit after a week. Some made it through the 6th week. After that… some died, some lost their minds and some (a very small group) are now Heaven’s Field Agents.  
It’s not something anyone can do.  
But here she is. She has endured every trial Heaven has thrown her way. She’s been captured and tortured at least 6 times. She has managed to survive and not to reveal a thing, even after long months of captivity. She always escapes and she never betrays her people.  
And yet… she glances at her flowers. This is a very dangerous path she’s walking and she can’t help to wonder if this will be her downfall. All her work… all the strength she has always shown… all seems so pointless, so insignificant, so…  
“Aziraphale”  
She looks up and stares at her fiancé, standing at her office’s entrance “Hi James”  
He eyes her roses and she prays he won’t ask. He turns his attention back at her and says “I was hoping to talk to you”  
“Right” she responds, gesturing to the empty chair in front of her desk “please, take a seat”  
“I can’t right now” he argues “I’ve got lots of work. But… can you come to my place tonight?”  
“I… sure. Sure, I’ll be there”  
“Here” he says, offering her his keys “let yourself in. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can”  
Aziraphale nods and watches him go. She’s tired and she'd rather go home after she finishes her work, but she knows better than to deny James something. Especially when he has granted her the small mercy of not prying into her business. She sighs.  
It’s going to be a long night…  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
She arrives at James’ flat somewhere around 8 o’clock. She walks into the bedroom, looking for something to change into. She’s not sure she keeps a pair of pajamas here; it’s not like she wears anything to bed when she stays with her fiancé, but tonight she’s not in the mood for that, so she needs to find something to sleep in.  
She finds a pair of sweatpants and a tank top and she changes. It’s not exactly what she would chose for bed, but it’ll work. She lays on the bed, takes out one of her books and settles for some reading.  
She can’t really concentrate, though. She’s still thinking of her meeting with Crowley and his thoughtful gifts. She has dated quite a few men and nobody has ever been this attentive. But what’s Crowley’s angle? What’s he trying to achieve? What’s his plan?  
It’s nothing romantic, she’s sure of that. He knows better than to pursue a woman who’s not only engaged but also an enemy agent. Maybe he’s just like this? Attentive, gentlemanly, sweet? Odd for an agent of Hell, she thinks, but maybe…  
She decides not to worry much. She’ll figure it out sooner or later.  
Or so she hopes.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Aziraphale wakes up with a start to the feeling of the mattress dipping. She’s up in a second, fetching her dagger from her discarded clothes and adopting a fighting stance “Took you long enough” James comments, while he continues to undress. He has sat down to take off his socks and now he stands up to take off his pants. Aziraphale drops her defensive stance and sits next to him.  
“I’m getting soft at my old age” she tries to joke, laying back down.  
“No, you’re getting sloppy” he argues frowning “I worry about you, Aziraphale. And this mission”  
“There’s nothing…”  
“An anniversary gift, right?”  
Aziraphale doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. She’s good figuring things out with little information, but James has always been better. She learned from him, after all. “Just be careful. Don’t fall for his tricks”  
“I won’t” she sentences and he nods, before leaning in for a soft kiss. It’s a very chaste kiss, the kind of kiss that won’t lead to anything else and Aziraphale is glad, because now she’s even less in the mood for sex “was that what you wanted to discuss?”  
“No. But right now I’m a little too tired. I just… well, have you thought about setting up a date?”  
“A date for what?”  
“Our wedding, of course”  
Aziraphale pales. They’ve been engaged for 7 years and now he’s asking for a date? “I… no, I can’t say I have”  
“Well, we should” he sentences “I was thinking April is nice month”  
Six months from now. She suddenly feels likes she’s going to be ill “Yeah. Sounds great” he smiles softly at her and pecks her lips. She tries to smile, but she’s not quite sure she succeeds. She just feels too overwhelmed.  
“Sleep well love” James whispers against her ear, before settling next to her and placing an arm around her waist. Aziraphale nods absent-mindedly and closes her eyes.  
She has lots of things to figure out. Problem is, she’s pretty sure she won’t like what she’ll discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, I know! Many things happening in here… LOL. What do you think? Comments, anyone? Pretty please?


	10. Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley discuss her impending nuptials...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Crowley walks into their usual meeting place, feeling quite cheerful. Aziraphale is at their usual table, lost in her reading. He smiles; she is wearing the shoes he had given her. The truth is that he had been a little more than worried about it being too much: the flowers, the nice restaurant, the dress, the shoes… he had also gotten her a necklace, but had decided against giving it to her in the last minute. He was afraid to spook her.  
But he could tell she had enjoyed the attention. It’s obvious that fiancé of hers isn’t even remotely romantic. And women always like being romanced, even if they fervently denied it (and he had the slight suspicion that would be Aziraphale’s case)  
Still, he isn’t sure what he was hoping to achieve. Regardless of how well they get along, they are technically enemies. Even if she hadn’t been engaged, this couldn’t lead anywhere.  
Problem is, deep down, Crowley is an optimist. And that makes him ignore all the signs telling him that Aziraphale is off limits. He hopes that if he plays his cards right, he will get the girl.  
Silly, right?  
“What’s that?” he asks, as he sits in front of her. Aziraphale looks up and he realizes she’s reading a magazine. That’s odd, to say at least, but when she shows him the cover… “Wedding dresses? Why are you looking at wedding dresses?”  
“It should be obvious” she says, closing the magazine and placing it inside her purse “I’m getting married”  
“When? How did this happen?”  
Aziraphale arches an eyebrow, amused by his reaction and he knows he should be hiding better his surprise but… “April” she answers calmly “and considering I’ve been engaged for 7 years, I don’t see how this comes as a surprise to you, Crowley”  
He’s lost of words. What can he say to that? “Well, you said it yourself. You’ve been engaged for 7 years, why now?”  
Aziraphale shrugs “I’m not sure myself. But then again… it’s not like I’m getting any younger”  
“Please tell me he didn’t actually use that argument”  
Aziraphale looks away “He might have mentioned it. Not exactly like that but… he did mention if we wait much longer I won’t be able to have children. Not without endangering myself and the baby”  
“Do you even want to have children?” Crowley asks, feeling more than a little desperate. He needs time to figure out what he can do about his ever growing attraction for Aziraphale and five months is not enough time!  
“I… well, I’m sure I can handle it”  
He scoffs. She really can’t think that “You’re kidding, right? Of course you can handle it, but do you want to?”  
Aziraphale shrugs again “I would be willing to make a compromise”  
“A compromise” Crowley repeats, feeling numb. She can’t be serious “You don’t sound particularly thrilled about this marriage business”  
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not. But ever since I accepted James proposal I knew this was bound to happen. So… well, I can do it”  
“You can… Zira! How can you say that?” she looks at him funnily, like she can’t see what’s so completely wrong with what she’s saying. And that’s the saddest thing: that she probably doesn’t see it “Marriage… is not something you “can do”. Is something you should want to do. You know, when you’re in love”  
Aziraphale just stares at him. She shakes her head and smiles at him indulgently “For an agent of Hell, you’re such a romantic Crowley”  
He takes offense in that “Zira…” he starts darkly, but she interrupts him.  
“Marriage has nothing to do with love, Crowley. Marriage is about alliances and power and compromises. A chance to achieve something; a necessary social function. People don’t marry because they’re in love. The marry because they find it necessary for their interests”  
Crowley stares at her, astonished. He shakes his head “For an agent of Heaven, you’re such a cynic”  
“I’m realistic, Crowley. If I thought marriage had anything to do with love, I wouldn’t be marrying at all”  
They fall into an uncomfortable silence. He’s dying to tell her she’s wrong; to please stop being so cynical and can’t she see she deserves much more than some sort of arranged marriage? But he stops himself. It’s not his place to tell her so and it’s not as if she would listen. Why would she listen to an enemy, after all?  
“Well… whatever. It’s your life. Do as you please”  
“I will” she sentences, glaring darkly at him and he flinches. He hates when she looks at him like that “So, shall we get down to business?”  
“Yes. Let’s do that”  
That would be far safer. And besides, he needs time to figure out how to convince her not to marry next April.  
Not to her current fiancé, at least.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Listen Zira, about earlier…” she looks at him and he hesitates. The whole meeting has been awkward, even when they’ve been drinking plenty of wine to make them feel looser. He’s not sure what he can tell her to make her change her mind, but he’s desperately trying to think of something.  
“Never mind” she says, looking away once more “let’s not discuss that”  
He sighs. He probably should keep his thoughts to himself, but if she does marry, he’s not sure what he’ll do with himself and the feelings he has developed for his counterpart. It’s not quite mere attraction and it’s not quite love, but it has the potential to be something special and as scary as the idea is, he wants to give it a shot. He’s not sure why, but he feels so happy when he’s with her, so at ease, so… “Okay. Let’s talk about something more cheerful”  
Aziraphale nods and he’s glad she’s willing to stay a little longer. After all, their business meeting is technically over, so she could walk away as soon as she wished, but she stays despite probably being angry at him for trying to meddle in her personal affairs, so he guesses that’s a good thing.  
It shows this relationship is not one-sided, even if she doesn’t feel quite the same he does “Your birthday is in a week”  
“How does me getting older is a more cheerful topic?” Aziraphale argues teasingly. Crowley smiles; at least her mood is slightly improved.  
“Let me treat you dinner”  
She frowns “I don’t think that’s a good idea”  
“Why?”  
She toys absent-mindedly with a lock of her hair and starts chewing her lower lip and he focus his attention on her eyes. Not a good time to get distracted by how much he wishes he could kiss her “It’s… complicated” he arches his eyebrows and Aziraphale sighs “Crowley, we’re not… we’re enemies. We shouldn’t socialize outside our meetings”  
“Well, you know how the saying goes; keep your friends close…”  
“And your enemies closer” she laughs, shaking her head “Okay, okay, I get your point” she still looks thoughtful but finally, she smiles mischievously at him “I’ll tell you what. You call me next Thursday and we’ll agree where we shall meet”  
“Fine” he takes out his mobile phone “Can I have your number?”  
She smirks and he suddenly understands what’s her game “Right. I’ll call you next Thursday, then”  
“I’ll be waiting” she leans back on her seat. Smug, defiant, challenging. Crowley smirks.  
She’s never looked more desirable.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Getting Aziraphale’s number will be a challenge. But he’ll manage, if only to prove her that he’s as good at his job as she is. Still, right now, he has more pressing matters to think of.  
Well, maybe not. Thinking about her impending marriage it’s not something he really wants to do, but he supposes he should try to make his peace with the idea. Despite whatever ingenious plan he might device to stop Aziraphale from getting married, there’s still a very big chance she will. Maybe not in five months, but at some point.  
He finds it weird all the feelings that she has managed to awake in him in so little time. A year might seem like enough time to develop said feelings, but they have just seen each other 13 times. However, there’s no denying that he does care for her. He might even consider her a friend, if it wasn’t for the fact that, by mere principle, Hell’s agents don’t have friends.  
Her views on marriage and love are quite depressing and Crowley would love to prove her wrong, but he’s not sure she’ll let him. Even if she decides to call off her engagement, it’s quite obvious she’s very reluctant to the idea of them fraternizing too much. Asking for a more personal relationship might be pushing things too far. She likes him well enough, he can tell, but, is she willing to compromise her career (and probably her life) for him? Probably not.  
And he shouldn’t be expecting her to. He does care for her, and wants her to be happy. Then again, is it too selfish of him to wish her to be happy choosing him? Well…  
A little, yes. Asking for that level of trust, of commitment, is too much. He’s not in love with her (at least not yet) and maybe that’s why he can entertain the idea. Because if it was love, he wouldn’t be even considering it. He would know he can’t ask that much from her. It wouldn’t be fair.  
Besides, there’s also his side to consider. Hell’s not known by how understanding they are. One of their agents, dating an enemy? Something they would definitely frown upon.  
And of course, there’s the matter of his sister. There’s no question that she would use Aziraphale as a way of hurting him and things could get really ugly really quickly if his sister decides he needs to be “disciplined”.  
So no, he probably shouldn’t be trying to prevent Aziraphale from marrying. She will be safer if she does marry, even if she won’t be happy. How can she be, when she’s just marrying because…?  
Well, why is she? She has admitted she’s not in love, what can she possibly gain from her marriage? She can climb into a better position by herself. He sincerely doubts she has any financial problems and she might not be the most gorgeous woman ever, but she’s pretty enough to find more than one man willing to share her bed (Crowley himself included) So… why?  
He should ask her. He will ask her. Which brings him back to his original thought.  
He needs to get her number.  
Time to get down to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Everything has a explanation, I swear! So even if you are thinking the characters are a little (or a lot OOC), there’s a reason! Stick with me and you’ll see!! LOL  
> Thanks for reading. Comments, opinions, critiques? Let me know!


	11. Wedding plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has found a wedding planner... or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Aziraphale is working on a report when her office’s phone rings. She looks up, startled, since she’s not used to it ringing. Very few people call her on that number; actually, very few people call her at all. And since the people who normally do call (Michel and James) are working on offices very close by, she can’t imagine who’d be calling.  
“Hello?” she holds the receiver far from her ear, as if she’s afraid it’ll explode.   
“Hello to you too, Ms. Engel”  
She recognizes the voice right away, but she knows better than to start calling him by his name. After all, every line in the office is being constantly monitored to make sure nobody is up to something fishy and she knows for sure that being called by an enemy agent will land her in a lot of trouble. So she takes a deep breath and responds “This isn’t what I had in mind when I told you to call me on Thursday”  
“Oh, you didn’t specify, Ms. Engel. You just challenged me to get your phone number”  
“Who gave it to you, anyway?”  
“Your fiancé’s secretary. Madam Tracy, I believe?”  
“Why… how… when…?” she’s at loss of words and she can practically see Crowley smirking at her, pleased at her confusion “why would you call my fiancé?”  
“Well, for starters, his number IS listed on Heaven’s internet page. Then, I guessed that I might just as well talk to him if I couldn’t get you, but Madam Tracy was very accommodating…”  
“Are you nuts? You were going to talk to James?”  
“Of course, Ms. Engel. It’s not usual for the groom to actually get involved in the wedding planning, but I figured that if you weren’t going to cooperate…”  
She rolls her eyes. So this is Crowley’s story; he’s her wedding planner? Really, the things that man comes up with… “Well, now you have my number. What now?”  
“Oh, I was thinking we could meet tomorrow at this lovely bakery really close to St. James Park”  
“A bakery?”  
“Yes, Ms. Engel. I’m thinking that we should start by choosing the wedding cake. You seem quite fond of pastries” Aziraphale blushes lightly, placing a hand over her belly unconsciously and glares at the phone. She does have a sweet tooth, but she hates when people mention it.   
“Right. Let’s say… 5 o’clock?”  
“Sounds perfect, Ms. Engel” she can perfectly picture Crowley’s smug smirk and she rolls her eyes “See you then. Have a nice day”  
And he hangs up. Aziraphale sighs, resting her elbows on the table and burying her head in her hands. Why did she accept Crowley’s invitation? She’s in for trouble if someone ever finds out what she’s doing. Of course, she’ll be careful and hopefully she’ll avoid anyone discovering her, but still, she shouldn’t be sneaking around. There’s no reason to.  
Except… well, she does like Crowley. She enjoys his company and if she’s honest with herself, she craves his attention. But those are very dangerous thoughts. She tries to remind herself that he’s the enemy and that this is just business, but she fails every time. She knows she should ask Michel to replace her on this mission, yet she can’t bring herself to admit that this might be too much for her to handle. In part because she takes great pride on how good she’s at her work and also because…  
She doesn’t want to stop seeing Crowley.  
This is madness. This is proving she has a death wish. This is suicide. She rubs her temples, trying to ease the headache she’s starting to feel. She’s worrying too much. Maybe she just needs to let go. Go with the flow, see where it takes her. But that goes against all her instincts, all her training, all her principles.   
She stands up and starts pacing around the office. She closes her eyes, trying to relax. She takes deep breaths and tries to convince her upset stomach that throwing up it’s not a good idea. God, the stress is going to kill her!  
She seriously considers not showing up the next day but as soon as she thinks it, she dismisses the idea. She can’t do that. It wouldn’t be polite. Not that she should care about being polite to her enemy, but…  
Sighing, she collapses on her chair. She wants to go home, take a nice long bath, settle down on her bed with a cocoa mug along with a good book and pretend none of this is happening. It does sound like a nice plan; so nice in fact, that she considers going to Michel’s office, proclaim she’s sick and doing just that.  
She glances at her half-finished report and feels a little guilty. She really shouldn’t go home just yet, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to concentrate anyway. However, if she leaves early today, she might not finish in time for her meeting with Crowley the next day…  
Oh, what to do?  
Just then, there’s a knock on the door and when she looks up, she finds her fiancé standing in the doorway. Great, just what she needs “Hi James. Need something?”  
It comes a little rude, she knows, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s stressed and confused and he’s certainly not helping to improve her mood “Madam Tracy says you found a wedding planner”  
Good Lord, what did she do to deserve this? Aziraphale forces herself to smile sweetly while she prays he won’t ask too many questions or ask to meet him and answers “Yes. He’s quite… insistent”  
James nods, even if he’s staring at her suspiciously. Aziraphale tries to look calm and collected, but she’s not sure she’s succeeding “That’s nice. I was beginning to think you had gotten cold feet”  
Once more she tries to smile “Not at all. I’m just a little overwhelmed. It’s a lot to plan”  
“I know” he comes closer and she has to force herself not to flinch when he leans down to kiss her “I’m glad you found someone to help you” another kiss and Aziraphale is starting to feel worse. Now she’s feeling stressed, confused and guilty.   
She hates it.  
“Do you want to come over my apartment tonight?” he asks her in a husky tone and now she’s sure she’s about to throw up. The guilt is eating her inside, although she’s not quite sure if there’s something she should be feeling guilty for. It’s not like she’s cheating and while she does fancy Crowley, her main concern is how her superiors might perceive her unscheduled meeting with an enemy agent, not the attraction she feels towards said enemy agent. Still…  
“I’m not feeling well” she confesses, looking apologetic “I think I’ll rather go home and sleep”  
Her fiancé frowns “You can also do that at my place. Well, technically, it’s our place”  
She can’t think like that. There’s just something wrong with thinking of James’ apartment as home, instead of the small apartment over her bookstore. “Yes, well, I… I’m not really the best company right now”  
Once more he’s frowning and she tries to smile reassuringly, but she’s pretty sure she fails miserably “Alright. Do as you please” he kisses the top of her head and walks away “See you around, Aziraphale”  
She nods and as soon as he’s out of sight, she lets her head hit her desk. This is a nightmare.  
And she just wants to wake up.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
She doesn’t sleep well on Thursday night and it shows in her general appearance. She’s also a little groggy and has to fight back yawns the whole day. By 5 o’clock she’s certainly not in the best mood, but that somehow changes the moment she steps into the bakery and the delicious smell of the pastries reaches her nose.  
Her mood improves even more when she sees Crowley standing next to the counter, talking to the baker. He’s skimming through what seems a wedding cakes’ catalogue and Aziraphale rolls her eyes. He’s taking his part quite seriously.  
“Ah, angel! You’re here!” he exclaims after seeing her and she can’t help to smile as she steps closer to him “Look at this. Doesn’t it look delicious?”  
It does. It’s a chocolate cake that looks like it could cause someone a sugar-induced coma, but it certainly looks delicious. However… “I’m not sure chocolate is a good idea”  
Crowley frowns “You love chocolate”  
“Well, yes, but…”  
“Would you and your fiancée like to try some of your selections, Mr. Serpentone?”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes at Crowley’s choice of false name and then she registers what the baker has just asked “He’s not my fiancé” she assures him, glaring darkly at Crowley who’s smirking at her.  
“No. I’m the wedding planner”  
“Oh” the baker says, blushing lightly “My apologies then, Miss…?”  
“Fell” she responds, using the false name she always gives when she’s not working “Angela Fell”  
Crowley arches his eyebrows ironically at her and she glares at him. “Would you like to take a seat?” the baker offers, noticing the rising tension between them and Aziraphale just nods. They are lead to a small table in the back of the shop and then the baker disappears, presumably to get the cake samples.  
“So, Mr. Serpentone. You really used that name when you called my fiancé?”  
Crowley shrugs “It worked, didn’t it?”  
“Yes. But James would have seen through it right away”  
He smirks “We both know he wouldn’t have really talked to me. He’s too important and too busy to be expected to deal with something as trivial as wedding planning. Besides, all of that could have been avoided if you had just given me your mobile phone’s number”  
“Oh, but where would the fun be on that?”  
Crowley shakes his head, amused “Well, I’ve always enjoyed a good chase. Especially when there’s such a lovely prize at stake”  
She blushes profusely as a wave of warmness hits her whole body. She’s not sure what he’s implying with that statement, but it has certainly had an effect on her. She looks away, unsure of how to answer that as is quite thankful when the baker reappears, bringing with him a tray with 5 delicious looking cake slices.  
She smiles as the tray is put in front of her and immediately chooses the chocolate one. Crowley smirks at her as she makes a soft moaning sound at how tasty it is “Told you. You love chocolate”  
“Yes” she takes another bite and once more, she moans softly “but James hates chocolate”  
“There you have it. Another reason why you shouldn’t marry him”  
She takes a deep breath “Crowley…”  
“Right, right. We won’t discuss it” he agrees quickly and she must admit she feels a little relieved. She really doesn’t want to discuss her relationship with him. Not right now, at least. He takes a different cake and takes a bite, smiling at her the whole time “Maybe angel’s cake, then. He’d appreciate the joke, right?”  
Aziraphale glares half-heartedly at him “I’m not a fan of angel’s cake”  
“There’s just no way of pleasing you, is there?” Crowley asks, sarcastically “How do you expect to plan a wedding when what you want won’t match your fiancé’s tastes?”  
“I’ll find a way” she shrugs, taking a piece of Crowley’s cake “Weren’t you supposed to buy me dinner?”  
“Of course. After we’re done here”  
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Can’t imagine eating the dessert before the actual meal”  
Crowley raises his eyebrows suggestively, but she doesn’t notice. Or maybe she just chooses to pretend not to notice. “Maybe we should go drinking instead”  
“Sounds like a plan” Crowley agrees, taking a piece of her cake “I’ve got a couple of bottles of champagne in my car” as she arches her eyebrows, he adds “I thought we should go to your apartment this time. It’s only fair”  
Aziraphale hums, taking a bite from a third cake “Can’t really argue with your logic” she makes a face as she shallows “This tastes awful”  
“Cherry cake” Crowley informs her, taking a little bite for himself “not a fan, definitely” he adds, making a face too. Aziraphale laughs, taking a piece of a different cake.  
“So, was your plan to get horribly drunk at my apartment the whole time?”  
“Well, I was hoping you’d agree. But if not, I had a plan B which included a nice dinner, with even nicer wine and then talking your ear off till you agreed to at least accompany me to my flat”  
She nods sagely “Well, I’ve just saved you a lot of work, haven’t I?”  
“Yes. How nice of you, Ms. Fell”  
She rolls her eyes and keeps on eating. She’s enjoying herself; she has to admit that this has been a great way to spend her birthday. Normally she wouldn’t even acknowledge the date, but after these few minutes together, she can already say it’s going to be a great birthday.  
Too bad she’s not supposed to be here at all.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“So, have you made up your mind?”  
The baker stares at Aziraphale expectantly and she eyes the now empty tray, smiling “Yeah, I think so” she glances longingly at the plate that used to have the chocolate cake and finally answers “The cherry one, I think. For 100 people?”  
“Of course, Ms. Fell” the baker agrees “shall I show you some designs?”  
“Yes, please”  
Crowley just shakes his head and once the baker is gone, he says “You hated the cherry one”  
“James loves cherries”  
“Do you need me to point out yet another reason why you shouldn’t marry the man?”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes “I don’t want to discuss it, Crowley”  
He looks ready to argue, but the baker comes back and interrupts them. Afterwards, the settle in an uncomfortable silence that Aziraphale is not sure how to break “It’s your life, Aziraphale” he whispers, darkly “but I really think you should re-think this whole marriage business. Why are you marrying, anyway? It’s not like it’ll benefit you somehow”  
Aziraphale stares at the catalogue the baker has given her. She bits her lip and answers truthfully, even if she knows it’s a terrible idea “I know better than to say no”  
“What does that mean?”  
She shakes her head, knowing she has already said too much “Never mind. Just let me choose a design and we can get started with the rest of your plan, huh?”  
Crowley nods, even if it’s obvious this conversation is far from over. He’ll want to know what does she mean and she can’t really explain. Not now, maybe not ever. There are things she´d rather not think too much about.   
Funny how, even after 12 years, her past keeps haunting her.  
Well, maybe not so funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Please, please, let me know!! I’m dying to hear your thoughts on the story so far!!  
> Thanks for reading.


	12. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley starts worrying that there's something wrong with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Crowley wakes up with a slight headache, but not as bad as it could have been, considering how much he drank the previous night. Aziraphale had forced him to drink a glass of milk before bed and shallow some pills that she didn’t explain what they were, but tasted awful. However, they seemed to have done their job.  
He finds himself alone in Aziraphale’s poor excuse of a bed. He’s pretty sure they decided to share it because her couch was even more uncomfortable, but now there are no signs that anyone else slept with him. What would have been Aziraphale’s side is cold, so either she didn’t sleep at all or she left bed quite early.  
The idea that she didn’t sleep at all upsets him a little. However he pushes the thought aside and starts considering getting up. It’s not even past dawn and he always stays in bed at least till midday. Yet, the smell of breakfast being cook convinces him to get up and go looking for Aziraphale.  
He finds her in the kitchen (or what passes as a kitchen in her small apartment; really, how can she live there?) She’s wearing a flannel plaid pajama; her hair is even messier than usual and yet, he can’t help to think she’s beautiful. The whole scene looks so charmingly domestic, that his heart aches. He finds himself wishing he could wake up to this image for the rest of his life, but he knows it’s highly unlikely. Still…  
“All I’m saying is that June is a perfectly sensible month…”  
“We’re not postponing the wedding, Aziraphale!” Crowley freezes at the sound of Aziraphale’s fiancé’s voice, because, as much as he hates to admit it, the idea of facing the Metraton is quite scary, especially if he finds him coming from his fiancée’s room, but soon he realizes that Aziraphale’s is using her phone’s speaker so she can cook and talk.  
“Oh, do try not to be so loud, dear” Aziraphale argues and Crowley must admit he feels a little hurt by the fact that, apparently, she uses her endearments at random “I’m just saying…”  
“You’re just saying you don’t want to get married”  
“It’s not that” she argues darkly, even if Crowley suspects it’s the truth “It’s just that it’s a lot of work…”  
“Isn’t that why you hired a wedding planner? He’ll take care”  
“I sincerely doubt it” Aziraphale says, finally noticing that Crowley is awake and sending a smile his way, which causes Crowley’s insides to melt. She looks so lovely like this and he wants nothing more than to kiss her… “I think I’ll find myself doing most of the work”  
“Then you should hire a different one” the Metraton argues and Aziraphale rolls her eyes “you know money it’s not a problem”  
Aziraphale sighs and starts serving Crowley’s breakfast “I’ll see what I can do”  
“Good” her fiancé says and Aziraphale rolls her eyes once more “Anyway, I called to warn you”  
Aziraphale tenses immediately and so does Crowley. Things could get very nasty in very little time and he supposes he should be prepared to run as fast as he can. However… “Michel is planning on kidnapping you this afternoon”  
Aziraphale lets out a relived breath and so does Crowley “Right. I should have known he wouldn’t let my birthday go unnoticed”  
“And also the rest of his brothers are in town”  
“Really?” she doesn’t look that thrilled about the prospect and Crowley arches his eyebrows, questioningly. She just shakes her head “Marvelous”  
“I would save you, if I wasn’t so busy” the Metatron states and Crowley rolls his eyes. If Aziraphale was his…  
But she isn’t, so no use thinking about it.  
“I’ll handle it” she argues calmly, proceeding to serve her own breakfast “I’ll see you around, then”  
“Yes. Have a nice day, Aziraphale”  
“You too”  
And they hang up. That’s one hell of a cold goodbye, in Crowley’s opinion, but he doesn’t comment. It’s quite obvious Aziraphale doesn’t want to discuss her relationship; however, he does wonder and he worries. What does she means by “she knows better than to say no”? He hopes there’s nothing too serious, but Aziraphale’s wording suggests…  
“How did you sleep, my dear?” she asks, taking a seat in front of him.  
“Fine. Although I maintain my statement that your bed is way too uncomfortable”  
Aziraphale shrugs “I suppose I’m used to it. Your bed was quite cozy, I seem to remember” she starts eating, totally missing the way he tenses at her casual mention of their last night together. He wishes he could sound as casual when discussing the night they both agreed to pretend never happened, but that somehow they always end up mentioning.  
“It is” he agrees “one should have a comfortable place to sleep”  
She smiles mischievously at him “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you” she says and Crowley can tell she’s going to ask something that he’ll find deeply embarrassing, by the way her lips curl “Do you always cuddle with your bed partners?”  
He almost spits out his coffee “I don’t…”  
“Of course you do” Aziraphale argues amicably “I’ve woken up with your arms wrapped around my middle both times we’ve shared a bed. You have a strong grip, by the way”  
He blushes. He’s always been a bit of a cuddler, but that’s the reason he always makes a quick exit after sex (before Aziraphale, he had never shared a bed with someone he wasn’t having sex with) It’s embarrassing, really, and would be very bad for his reputation, although he suspects Aziraphale won’t be sharing that little detail with anyone “Do you mind?” he asks, trying to keep the mood light and Aziraphale smiles at him.  
“Not really. I’m just not used to it”  
He finds that odd, but judging by the conversation he has just eavesdropped, he’s not too surprised. As it turns out, that fiancé of hers really doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He tells her as much and Aziraphale just rolls her eyes “Well, as you heard, I’m having visitors later, so it’ll probably be a good idea you left early. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”  
“Yeah, I understand” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and glancing at his half-eaten breakfast. He really wishes he could stay longer… maybe even spend another night… “I was hoping to buy you that dinner I owe you”  
“You don’t…”  
“I’ll call you next Wednesday” he interrupts her, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked breakfast (deviled eggs, ironic, huh?) and getting ready to leave “Take care, angel”  
“Are you going to go out dressed like that?” she asks, ironically and it’s until that moment when he realizes he’s wearing pajamas bottoms that are too big for him and that he doesn’t remember having changed into them-  
“Oh, right. I’ll get changed and then I’ll be off”  
Aziraphale watches him go with an amused smile.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Later that day, he was feeling a little lonely and he blames that for his current situation. He’s sitting in an awfully cheap bar, in the “delightful” company of his team associates, Hastur, Ligur, the Riders (meaning Scarlett and her cousins) and a bunch of other people he can’t remember their names. He’s seriously considering just finishing his whisky and heading back home, where he can continue to drink to the point of oblivion, while trying to forget how well his morning had started and start planning how exactly is he going to stop Aziraphale from marrying, when Scarlett stands up and announces she’s bored and she’s leaving.  
At her words, everyone perks up (except from her cousins). Everyone knows that when Scarlett decides to leave a place, however she asks to drive her home is in for a night of wild (and slightly dangerous-for-the-health) sex. He rolls his eyes at the other guys’ expectation and is quite surprised when Scarlett takes his arm and proceeds to drag him out of the bar.  
He doesn’t take notice of the other males looks of disappointment, nor of whatever Scarlett is babbling about. He finds himself driving towards Scarlett’s apartment, too shocked to react properly. When they finally arrive at the female’s place, she starts trying to drag him out of the car and that’s when he finally breaks out of his stupor “I’m going home” he announces and Scarlett stares at him like he has said the silliest thing in the world and in a way, he has, because, seriously, who says no to sex with Scarlett Rider?  
Apparently, now he does. Because no matter how much he stares at Scarlett perfect figure and sexy outfit, all he can think about is about Aziraphale’s pajamas and how lovely she looked while she cooked breakfast. When Scarlett arches a perfect eyebrow at him, he knows there’s something seriously wrong with him.  
“I’m tired” he offers as an explanation, but his companion doesn’t believe him. He sighs, resting his head against the wheel and Scarlett keeps staring at him expectantly. He eyes her, trying to find a good excuse to just make her leave, but he can’t think of one single reason why he shouldn’t take Scarlett’s offer. Sure, he likes Aziraphale, but they aren’t even dating (because, let’s not forget, she’s engaged) and yet, somehow, he feels that sleeping with Scarlett would be like cheating. Which is very silly, especially if he considers that Aziraphale is definitely going to sleep with her fiancé at some point during the weekend (no matter how much of a jerk and unromantic fellow the Metatron is, he just has to take her out to celebrate her birthday, right? And it would only natural if they end up having sex afterwards… but better not keep thinking that…)  
Anyway, point is, he’s not in a relationship with Aziraphale and therefore, he doesn’t owe her any sort of fidelity. Now, if he follows that logic, he can totally go with Scarlett and forget for a while of his massive crush on his supposed enemy. Only it’s not really a crush and he doesn’t really want to forget and what he really wants to do is go looking for Aziraphale, even if he knows they will end up only talking and drinking.  
But he can’t do that. She’s out with the frigging Archangels and it would be suicidal trying to approach her when she’s with them. Then again, everything that involves getting closer to Aziraphale is suicidal…  
“What’s troubling you?” Scarlett asks, after a while, making him jump because he had kind of forgotten he had company “Girl’s trouble?”  
He rolls his eyes “I’m not talking to you about this, Scarlett. Since when do you care, anyway?”  
“Oh, Crowley, don’t be like that. We’ve been working together for over 8 years” she argues calmly “I might not be the kind of woman people go to share their troubles…”  
“Because you’ll probably advise them to kill someone, destroy something or both”  
She smirks “Yes, probably” she agrees “doesn’t mean you can’t tell me what’s bothering you”  
“I don’t want to discuss it”  
Scarlett rolls her eyes and opens the door “You’re sure you don’t want to come up with me?” she asks, striking a pose and making sure to look as desirable as possible. Crowley considers her offer carefully and comes to the conclusion that, illogical as it may be, he doesn’t want to sleep with her.  
“Yes, I’m sure”  
“Your loss” she says, closing the door with more force than necessary, making Crowley flinch (he hates when people aren’t careful with his beloved car) and he drives away, heading towards his home, even if he’s inclined to drive to SoHo (which really, is not as bad as he thought).  
He’s pinning for an engaged girl, who wouldn’t even consider a relationship with him even if she was single.  
Something is seriously wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Thanks for reading; I’m still looking for a title, so, any ideas?


	13. Night out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get more complicated for Aziraphale as new revelations arrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

As much as she hates when Michel insists on dragging her out to celebrate her birthday, Aziraphale is actually thankful this time. She hopes it would provide enough distraction from her rather troubling thoughts.  
But, no matter what she’s doing, she finds out she can’t stop thinking of Crowley. She knows she really shouldn’t keep on seeing him outside their “business” meetings, but she also can’t really bring herself to stop. The previous night had been so much fun; they had drunk a little wine, talked and generally enjoyed each other presence. She can’t honestly remember ever having been this comfortable with someone.  
Michel is babbling about one thing or another, but she’s not really paying attention. She would have rather stayed home (with Crowley, if possible) and watched a movie, but Michel can’t be dissuaded. He has made up his mind to take her to some bar and that’s where they’re heading.  
They arrive at the place and Aziraphale is thankful she had decided to use the dress that Crowley gave her. She feels awkward wearing a dress, but at least she’s properly dressed. It’s a fancy bar in the upscale side of the city. She looks around, thinking that Crowley would love the place and promptly pushes the thought away.  
She can’t keep thinking like that.  
They walk into the bar, Michel still talking about something and they quickly spot his brothers. Michel smiles and drags her to the table and Aziraphale smiles too, greeting the other males.  
It’s been a long time since she’s seen the other Archangels. Raphael technically works in Heaven’s Medical Facilities in London (he’s the Hospital’s Chief, actually), but he’s almost always at the Training’s Facilities, supervising. Gabriel is always out of London; he’s Heaven’s Speaker and has to travel constantly. As for Uriel, she technically works with him, since he’s the leader of the Spy Division and always gets Aziraphale all the information she needs for her missions, but normally they just text or e-mail each other.  
She does enjoy spending time with them. She lived with them for 5 years, to cry it aloud! The source of her discomfort when James informed her they were all visiting came from the fact that they are kind of her foster family. And since Michel’s forte isn’t really to be supportive or empathic or generally comforting, she suspects he asked his brothers to come so they can interrogate her and make sure she’s fine.  
Which she isn’t, but she doesn’t want to discuss it!  
“Hello, everyone” she says and finds herself immediately hugged by Uriel, who has always been the most enthusiastic of the four brothers. She pats his back awkwardly, not sure what else to do, while he starts babbling about how much they’ve missed her and why does she never visit anymore?  
“I… well, I’ve been busy…”  
“Busy indeed” Gabriel agrees, hugging her once Uriel lets go “You’re finally getting married”  
“You neglected to inform us, Aziraphale” Raphael chides, when it’s his turn to hug her.  
“I’ve been engaged for 7 years” she argues, rolling her eyes “you knew this was bound to happen”  
“No, we didn’t” Raphael discus, in that tone that always makes people feel guilty “you’ve been engaged for 7 years, but you’ve never shown any interest on actually getting married. So, why now, Aziraphale?”  
She glares at Michel, who’s smiling at his brothers. Obviously they’ve been set up to interrogate her. Well, there’s nothing she can do, is it? “Well, it’s not like I’m getting any younger…”  
“Really? That’s your argument?” Gabriel asks, while gesturing their waitress to bring them more drinks.  
She sighs. She really doesn’t want to discuss it “James thinks it’s something long overdue”  
“Of course it’s overdue” Michel interjects “but it’s not like he made an effort to formalize your engagement ever before”  
Aziraphale starts playing with a lock of her hair, unsure of what to say “James thinks it’s for the best”  
“But what do you think?” Raphael presses and she bits her lip, unsure of how much she’s willing to reveal. She suspects James’ real reason to insist on the wedding, but that’s something she doesn’t want to discuss with anyone.  
“I don’t mind” she answers finally “I mean, I always knew this would happen”  
“And you sound so thrilled about it!” Uriel states sarcastically and Aziraphale is having a deja vu. It’s like informing Crowley of her impending nuptials all over again. But somehow even worse.  
“Listen guys, I really appreciate your concern, but…”  
“We’re family, Aziraphale” Raphael argues and her heart clenches; she hates when they use that argument against her. They’re not really family, but they’ve been more caring and nurturing than her real family ever was “of course we worry about you” Raphael eyes his younger brothers and they immediately stand up, leaving him alone with Aziraphale. She sighs. She really doesn’t want to be doing this.  
“Raphael…”  
“I know you don’t want to discuss it” he interrupts her “but we must. You’re like a sister to us, Aziraphale, and we want you to be happy”  
That’s the thing, though. They want her to be happy, not understanding that she doesn’t really care for happiness. Sure, it’ll be nice to be happy, but she'd rather be safe. And marrying James means exactly that; keeping her secrets safe. Of course, if she could choose, her secrets would be hers and hers only, but since she can’t erase James’ memory, she’ll do what she has to do to guaranty his silence. And if that means marry him, look after him, have his children and do whatever he might want…  
Well, so be it.  
It’s such a sad reality and that’s why she won’t voice it aloud. She won’t accept anyone’s pity or worse, anyone’s attempt to convince her that things are not as bad as she thinks. Nobody can truly understand, unless she explains the truth.  
And she’ll rather die.  
“I’m fine” she states, darkly, avoiding his gaze. Raphael continues staring at her, forcing her to keep from fidgeting. Finally, he sighs, patting her hand reassuringly “Ok. I’ll respect your privacy”  
She’s thankful for his understanding. She has always found it easier to talk to Raphael; he knows what to ask and how to ask it so she won’t feel threaten or judged. She supposes that comes with being the oldest brother “Thank you”  
“Still, know this Aziraphale. If you need anything…”  
“I know”  
And she does.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The real problem isn’t her impending marriage. If this had happened a year ago, she wouldn’t have cared less. But now… now she has had a glimpse of something that could be love, if she would be brave enough to pursue it.  
Why is it so difficult?  
She opens the backdoor of her bookshop, heading towards the stairs that will lead her to the apartment. She can hear someone rummaging around the kitchen, so she takes out her dagger and advances carefully, wondering who would her mysterious visitor might be. Her heart starts beating erratically and she chides herself for even entertaining such thoughts. Crowley must be home; she told him she was going out, surely he wouldn’t…  
As it turns out, Crowley’s not her mysterious visitor. She enters the kitchen and finds an abundant meal served on the table. She stares at the food and sighs, knowing exactly who would have done this for her “Isn’t it a little late for so much food, James?” she asks, just as her fiancé appears. He smiles at her and shrugs.  
“You don’t have to eat it all” he argues, placing a bottle of wine on the table. He gestures for her to take a seat but Aziraphale hesitates “I made chicken picata. I know you love it”  
She does. She stares at the delicious meal and once more, starts feeling slightly nauseous with guilt “I’m not hungry” she says, coming closer to him and he just watches her approach, not making a single move.  
Once she steps in front of him, they continue staring at each other. She closes her eyes and wills her mind to clear. She´s still thinking about Crowley, but forces herself to focus on the man standing in front of her. This is her future. This is the man she’ll marry in a few months. Nothing is going to change that.  
He leans closer, their lips now practically touching and she takes one deep breath, to steady herself. She kisses him, trying hard to concentrate just on the feeling of his lips against her. After a few seconds, her whole body is tingling with excitement and she tells herself this is for the best. If this is her only future, she might as well start enjoying it.  
They end up in her bedroom, their clothes discarded on the side of the bed. She thinks she might be being a little overdramatic. Spending her life with this man is not a bad thing and actually, until Crowley came along, she had never had any doubts that she’d be fine.  
Her body reacts to every kiss and every caress, even if her mind is not really there. She’s still thinking of her conversation with Raphael, wondering if maybe she’s lying to herself. If maybe she’s not marrying to keep her secrets safe, but because she wants someone who would truly understand her. Someone who knows the truth of who she is.  
Someone who won’t let her forget who she was.  
She sinks her perfectly manicured nails in her fiancé’s back as she comes and he groans in response. Sex has always been very pleasant and even if the rest of their interactions are somewhat cold, she thinks she can live with this. It’ll be… enjoyable, to an extent, and she’ll be fine. Maybe not happy, but really, happiness is overrated.  
Or so she says to herself.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
A few hours later, Aziraphale wakes up to the sound of her stomach growling. She sits up and realizes she’s alone in her bed, so she stands up and heads towards the kitchen, where, unsurprisingly really, she finds her fiancé heating their dinner.  
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, coming to stand next to the table.  
“I was hungry” he says, not looking at her. She stares at his back, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She rubs her arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her nakedness. She can’t exactly pin point what it’s making her feel so uneasy, but there’s a certain tension on the air… Something is bothering her, but what…?  
Suddenly, she asks “Why did you decided to start planning the wedding?”  
He stares at her and proceeds to serve their meal without responding. Aziraphale keeps her eyes focused on him, trying to stay calm, even if she feels unnerved. Finally, he takes a seat on the other side of the table “Don’t you know?” he asks, pouring himself a glass of wine.  
“I have a slight suspicion”  
“Then you probably know. You’re suspicions are almost always correct”  
“But I want to hear you saying it” she argues, trying hard to keep her cool. He studies her silently, while taking a sip of wine and finally he sighs, puts the glass down and stands up, coming closer to her.  
“Because I’m trying to save you from yourself”  
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath “I don’t need saving”  
“Oh, but you do, Aziraphale” he argues darkly, handing her something that was lying on the table and that she hadn’t noticed. Aziraphale’s breath catches as she sees what he’s offering her.  
Crowley’s dark lenses.  
They stare at each other in tense silence “So… it’s a matter of jealousy, then” she whispers, after a while, taking the glasses from him. James stares at her hardly and then grips her arm, pulling her close. She doesn’t resist and she stays outwardly calm, even if her heart is beating frenetically.  
“Of course not, Aziraphale” he tells her, his voice a low and menacing murmur “In fact, if you think that sleeping with him will cure you of this ridiculous infatuation, then I encourage you to do it” she glares at him, angry beyond words “but I don’t think that’ll work”  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about”  
“Don’t I?” he lets her go and although all her instincts are telling her to back away, she holds her ground “I know you, Aziraphale. I know you better than anyone else. I know your vision of what a marriage is; I know that once we’re married, you’ll push those ridiculous thoughts away and focus. This is just a mission, Aziraphale. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s something else” he walks back to his seat and sits down “Now eat, you must be hungry”  
She isn’t, not really. If anything, she’s feeling ill. However, she knows better than to back down from this unspoken confrontation, so she sits down and forces herself to eat. The meal is probably tasty, but her mouth is dry as the desert, so everything tastes like sand. Regardless, she eats everything.  
Her life is about to get a hundred times more complicated.  
She can’t say she’s surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm… I’m really unsure about this chapter. In my original idea, the last scene actually came right when Aziraphale arrives at the apartment, but I thought this seemed more… logical? But now I’m not so sure… besides, I intended for this to be longer but… well, I think works better this way.  
> Thanks for reading. Opinions?


	14. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New complications keep coming their way and Crowley is pretty sure he has lost his mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

It’s Tuesday night and Crowley is wondering why did he tell Aziraphale he would call her on Wednesday. It seemed perfectly logical back then, but now he can’t remember why he didn’t say he would call sooner. He considers just dialing her number and see if she’s still at the office, but he forces himself not to.  
He doesn’t want to look too desperate.  
But he’s desperate. He wants to see her, talk to her, be with her. He misses her greatly and isn’t that just silly? For the last year, they saw each other once a month and now, it hasn’t even been a week and he’s aching to see her again.  
How pathetic.  
He’s sitting in a small office, sipping some rather bland coffee. He glances at his watch and wonders how much longer will he have to stay. If he had a choice, he would have headed back to his apartment hours ago, but when Hastur and Ligur had insisted on him driving them to their current location… well, technically, Crowley couldn’t have say “no”.  
Well, he could. But that wouldn’t have ended up pleasantly.  
“Sorry to keep you waiting, darling” the door opens and a woman enters. She’s on her mid-fifties, but she’s still quite beautiful. Besides, she holds herself with such grace and elegance, that it’s impossible not to think of her as beautiful.  
“Never mind, Madam Black”  
Madam Black is the sole owner of one of London’s most prestigious brothels. Of course, prostitution is technically against the law, but many things escape the police’s eyes, especially when Heaven or Hell has especial interest on them.  
The place is very close to Hell’s Headquarters, hosted in what was once a fancy hotel. Madam Black bought the place almost thirty years ago and since then, the place popularity has grown. Many of Hell’s higher-ups favor the place, including Crowley’s current boss, Hastur Duke and, of course, his brother Ligur.  
Crowley doesn’t particularly care for the place. He has never had the need to hire a prostitute, really. He prefers the actual thrill of seducing someone; although that’s not something he has been doing lately. The memory of his last encounter with Scarlett is still clearly imprinted in his memory and the revelations it raised are still troubling him.  
But since his boss does like the place, he has visited it more than a few times. The first time, Madam Black tried to convince him to hire one of her girls, but Crowley politely (or as politely as he could) had declined. Afterwards, she just invited him to her office for some coffee and pastries.  
She’s an interesting woman, full of amusing anecdotes and Crowley honestly enjoys talking to her. Waiting for Hastur and Ligur to finish their business is nowhere near as boring as it could be thanks to her and so, Crowley doesn’t complain much when they insist on him driving them to the brothel.  
“Now, what was I saying?” Madam Black asks, taking a seat in front of him, pouring some coffee for her, but before Crowley can answer, the door opens once more.  
He half-turns to face their new visitor and for a second, he’s out of breath, thinking he has recognized the newcomer. But when the girl steps closer, he realizes that he’s in fact, imagining things. She’s almost Aziraphale’s height, with messy blond hair and blue eyes, but they’re the wrong shade of blue. Besides, she’s slightly thinner than Aziraphale (not much, though. Certainly not as fit as most girls in the place)  
Realizing the newcomer isn’t Aziraphale does nothing for the longing the image of the girl has inspired in him.  
“Sorry to interrupt, Madam Black” she whispers, coming closer to the woman’s desk. Her voice is slightly deeper than Aziraphale, but it’s still quite pleasant. Crowley can’t help to shiver a little.  
“Never mind, darling” the woman says and receives the envelope the girl has brought with her. She opens it and counts the money inside. She frowns a little, but then shrugs “Thank you, Judith”  
The girl nods and walks away. Before she can leave, though, Crowley speaks “She’s new?”  
“Yes” Madam Black answer, gesturing the girl to stay where she is.  
Crowley stares at the girl and ponders his options. He already knows he can’t sleep with a woman without feeling like he’s betraying Aziraphale. He also knows that it’s quite a silly notion. And he also knows he’s never going to sleep with Aziraphale, so maybe…  
“Do you mind…?” he asks and Madam Black smiles.  
“Of course not, darling. Judith, take care of Mr. Crowley”  
The girl (Judith, apparently) nods and takes Crowley’s hand, dragging him towards one of the empty rooms. Once inside, she locks the room and smiles at him coyly “Anything in particular that you’d like?”  
One of the main reasons the place is so popular is because the girls are open to mostly any particular kink their clients might have. However, Crowley thinks he’s quite standard in that aspect “Nothing much. Although…” he hesitates and the girl smiles encouragingly at him “would you mind if I called you by another name?”  
She looks surprised at his question, but quickly smooths her expression and shakes her head “Whatever you wish” she tells him and gestures for him to lie on the bed. Crowley obeys, even if he’s feeling more than a little nervous. She proceeds to undress herself and Crowley thinks that the size of her breasts is also wrong (Aziraphale’s are smaller) but quickly dismisses the thought. He really shouldn’t keep on doing comparisons.  
The girl climbs on top of him and starts kissing him softly. It’s been a while since he kissed Aziraphale, but the memory of that one and only kiss still haunts him. Judith’s kiss is slightly sloppier, but is close enough for him to delude himself.  
Soon enough, he manages to delude himself into thinking the woman he’s with is the woman he has been fantasizing for quite a while. He kisses her passionately as he struggles to take off his clothes and a few minutes later, he flips her over so he can be on top.  
It doesn’t last long and he’s not surprised when he calls his “enemy’s” name when he comes (well, actually, all he manages is a broken “Zira”) He rolls over and stares at the ceiling, starting to feel a little remorseful but he shakes himself off his guilt trip.  
He owes Aziraphale nothing.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
All in all, he spends a pleasant night in Judith’s company, so he tips the girl generously and leaves the place feeling slightly more cheerful. Hastur and Ligur are nursing an awful headache, so he drops them at their apartment and heads home, already in a better mood and happy that he can finally go ahead and call Aziraphale. It might be slightly too early, but he doesn’t care.  
He has waited enough.  
So he calls. The phone rings six times before someone picks up “Yes?” the voice on the other side of the line says and Crowley can feel himself smiling. Ridiculous, really, how just hearing her voice makes him react.  
“So, I was wondering if you would prefer a wedding location in the city or would you prefer a country location?” he says, thinking of a couple of places he has already researched as wedding locations (he’s a professional, after all, and knows that the key to a good performance is to be accurately informed)  
There’s a long pause on the other side. Crowley immediately tenses, worrying for Aziraphale. He hears her sigh and then she says “Met me at the Ritz at 2 o’clock?”  
“Alright” he readily agrees, an unpleasant shiver running across his spine “See you in a while, then”  
Aziraphale hangs up right away and he can’t shake off the feeling of something being deeply, fundamentally wrong. Now he’s worried and has beginning to regret having called.  
Too late for regrets, though.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
He arrives five minutes earlier and waits anxiously, minutes feeling like hours. Finally, he sees Aziraphale arrive, accompanied by a younger woman. They’re talking animatedly between them and when Aziraphale spots him, she smiles softly.  
However, regardless of her dashing smile that makes his insides melt, he can’t help to notice how awful she looks. She has dark circles underneath her eyes and she looks very pale. She approaches the table and asks the waiter for an extra chair “Afternoon, Mr. Serpentone. This is Anathema Device, one of my interns”  
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Device” he says, sending a questioningly glance in Aziraphale’s direction (which she ignores) and shaking the girl’s hand.  
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Serpentone” the young woman says, taking a seat directly next to Crowley. He tries to act relaxed, but he’s deeply troubled by the uninvited guest. He has the feeling that Aziraphale needs to tell him something important, but he can’t phantom why she brought company then.  
“Answering your previous question” Aziraphale says, taking a long sip from her wine “We’d preferred a location in the city”  
He stares at her confusedly for a couple of seconds, but quickly recovers “Right. Well, there’s this lovely place in Mayfair…” Aziraphale arches one perfect eyebrow and Crowley can’t help to smirk a little “Really nice. Very exclusive. We can see it tomorrow, if you’d like”  
“Does tomorrow work for you, Anathema?” she asks the other female and she nods. Crowley frowns but none of the women pay him any mind. This is getting more and more confusing.  
“Of course, Capitan Engel. Whenever you say”  
Aziraphale purses her lips but catching Crowley’s eye, she hurries to smile charmingly once more. He can’t help to notice her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes “So, should be met there?”  
“Yes, that would be agreeable” Aziraphale responds and he can’t help to notice how stressed out she seems. Her whole body is so tense that all her muscles must be aching. He wants to say something reassuring, he really does, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea with their present company “What’s the address?”  
“North Audley Street. Let’s say… 1 o’clock?”  
“3 o’clock. I’m having lunch with James” She looks even tenser after that but Crowley can’t really question her without raising suspicions. He’s trying to figure out how to get rid of their unwanted companion, when a phone rings and Anathema checks hers. She smiles and blushes and sends Aziraphale a pleading glance, and she just rolls her eyes good-naturedly and gestures for her to answer. The girl stands up and heads outside to take her call.  
“What the hell, Aziraphale?!” he exclaims, once Anathema is out of hearing distance and Aziraphale huffs.  
“Keep your voice down” she counters darkly and takes something out of her purse, then throws it to Crowley. He stares at her wonderingly, but she just glares at him.  
“I was wondering where I had left them” he finally says, taking his sunglasses and placing them carefully inside his shirt’s pocket “thank you”  
“James found them” she informs him, taking another long sip of her glass of wine.  
“Oh” What’s he supposed to say to that? What does that mean? Does he know they’re seeing each other outside their business meetings? Does he suspects of Aziraphale’s loyalty? Towards whom? To him, to Heaven? What does this mean?! “So, he sent you with a chaperone?”  
“Yes, exactly” she continues angrily “I’m lucky that he just sent Anathema to babysit me today. I tried to keep this meeting secret, but of course he found out and then I was almost sure he was going to send Uriel to keep an eye on me and I just… God, this is awful!”  
She buries her head in her arms and Crowley is not sure what he can do to make her feel better. He tries patting her back but Aziraphale fixes him a glare so full of anger that he stops moving.  
He would stop breathing, if he could.  
“So, what do we do now?”  
“Now you’re going to help me plan a wedding” she whispers darkly and hotly and it’s a totally unappropriated response, Crowley knows, but he can’t help to feel turned on by her dangerous tone “You’re going to be exactly what you’re pretending to be and if we’re really lucky, we’ll convince Anathema than you’re nothing more than a wedding planner, so that when James asks her she tells him exactly that”  
“What exactly does he think it’s happening?” he asks, partly curious and partly very worried.  
“I’m not sure” she confesses, rubbing her temples “He knows you’ve been to my apartment, but he doesn’t know when, so I suppose he thinks that our meetings are ending much more later than I report, but… I’m not sure” she sighs, shaking her head “It’s been a very tiring week”  
“I can imagine” he whispers and she looks at him, almost says something, when Anathema reappears.  
“Sorry” the younger female says, reassuming her previous seat and Crowley notices how close he had leaned towards Aziraphale during their “discussion” so he sits up straighter.  
“Never mind, dear” Aziraphale says, looking more composed than she did when she arrived. She smiles tiredly at Crowley and adds “So, you were telling me about this lovely place in Mayfair”  
He stares at her for a couple of seconds. Things are getting awfully complicated between them. The sane thing to do would be stop this nonsense and go back to just doing business. But he’s far too gone for that. It’s the safest, wisest thing to do, but he knows none of them really wants that. Crazy as it seems, they want to continue with this.  
What does that say about them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? I believe I got myself into a bit of a mess, because I’m not exactly sure how to handle last chapter’s revelations… I mean, I’m just not sure if this makes sense anymore… Well, I guess I’ll have to work extra hard on the next chapter…  
> As always, thanks for reading. I thought of a title, but I’m not sure yet. I’m thinking “Barely breathing” would work wonderfully. Listen to the song and you’ll see why I think it’s rather perfect, but… oh, I’m not sure if it’s a good title for the fic…


	15. Suicidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoping their meetings would be the wise thing to do... that's not happening though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I made a mistake with the ending of chapter 13 and its consequences. I’m really not quite sure how to write this chapter…  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Aziraphale knows that this is very risky. If someone ever finds out about this, she’ll be in deep trouble. With James or with Heaven or maybe even both. However, what’s really frightening is the fact that she doesn’t really give a damn about that.  
She’s worried, but for other reasons.  
She takes a deep breath and starts walking faster. She’s very close to her destination and now it’s not the time for regrets. She’d already made a decision and there’s no point in changing her mind. Going back would be far more complicated.  
She walks into the apartment complex and hurries up the stairs. She really doesn’t want to stand still waiting for the elevator, because she’s afraid she’ll lose her courage. She wants to do this, but she’d be lying if she said she’s not scared.  
She’s finally standing outside Crowley’s apartment and she knocks. She hopes he’ll hurry to open up, because otherwise she might run. She starts biting her nails and scowls when she notices she’s ruining her manicure. Damn. This last week has been awful for her nails.  
The door opens and Crowley looks surprised at seeing her. She tries to smile reassuringly, but it comes out as a painful grimace and he gestures for her to come in. They don’t talk; she just walks in and sits on his comfortable couch. Crowley heads towards the kitchen and comes back holding two whisky glasses, filled to the rim.  
“Thanks” she says, almost finishing her drink in one go. Crowley just nods and places the other glass in front of her. He sits on the other side of the couch and waits for her to finish her first glass. The alcohol does help her to relax a little, but not much. There are hundreds of things she wants to tell him, but she’s not sure where to start.  
“I wasn’t expecting to see you till tomorrow” he tells her, watching her closely “Are you sure it’s a good idea, with your paranoid fiancé?”  
“I’m sure it’s a terrible idea” she responds, taking another sip of her drink.  
“How did you even manage to…?”  
“James had a meeting” she interrupts him “So I figured I could come and visit you”  
“So you just… walked here?”  
She scoffs “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m no fool; I sneaked out of my apartment and… well, you can see the precautions I took” she says, gesturing at her outfit (an old tracksuit and a long black wig). Not her best disguise, for sure, but good enough.  
The fall into an uncomfortable silence, none of them too sure of what to say. Aziraphale takes off her wig and runs her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. She really hates wearing those things.  
“So… Trouble in paradise, huh?” he asks, as the silence stretches uncomfortable between them. Aziraphale snorts, because that’s an understatement.  
“I’m in hell” she informs him and he smirks at her phrasing. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to get her emotions under control. If she doesn’t, she’ll start crying and that’s definitely a no-no. Besides, she’s not sure why would she be crying. Frustration? Anger? Sadness? Longing?  
“It’s okay” Crowley whispers, sliding closer to her “I’m here” and pats her knee awkwardly. He sucks at being comforting, but she’s thankful for his presence and his attempts to make her feel better.  
Is it odd that she finds reassurance in the man that’s supposed to be her enemy? Is it wrong that she searches refuge from her own people in his apartment? Is it such a terrible thing that she has risked James’ and Heaven’s ire by coming here just to talk?  
“God, what am I doing?” she suddenly asks herself, standing up and pacing around the living room “I shouldn’t be here”  
“Aziraphale…” Crowley has stood up and is now behind her, his mere closeness infinitely soothing “relax” he whispers, placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging gently “you’re under a lot of pressure”  
She is. But she can handle pressure. What she can’t handle is feelings. She’s feeling too much. She wants her emotions to stop being so freakily troublesome. She wants to go back to the time when she didn’t have so many conflicting emotions inside her.   
She shouldn’t be here. Crowley is the whole reason why she’s feeling all she’s feeling, but ironically, she only finds calm in his presence. He makes her feel like no one and nothing else has ever before. It’s dangerous and it’s stupid, but she wants to be here.  
She turns around to face him and her heart starts beating erratically. As their eyes lock, warmness starts spreading across her limbs. She’s pretty sure that if she kissed him, he would let her. If she pushed him towards his room, he would let her do whatever she pleased. The hunger reflected in his eyes is unmistakable and it’s the same hunger that it’s consuming her, but she knows that if she gives in, she’ll be lost.  
James is right. Sleeping with Crowley won’t cure her of her infatuation because this is something deeper than that. Desire burns up quickly and a night of passion would probably be enough to bury it. But this… this would feed on every kiss and on every caress and soon enough, there would be no way to contain it.  
And still, she wants to do it.  
She takes a step back, breaking eye contact “I’m tired” she says “I just… I wanted to talk to you without anyone else in the middle. But this is probably a bad idea”  
“Maybe… maybe you should hire an actual wedding planner” he tells her, taking a step back too. She smiles sadly at that.  
“It would probably be for the best”  
They stay in silence for a while and she picks up the other glass of whisky “What are we doing, Crowley?” she asks him, staring at her beverage as if contained all the answers of the world.  
“I don’t know” he says as he sits down once more “we really should stop”  
Aziraphale sits down and sighs. She should head back home, but she’s not sure how to do that. Sneaking into her place would be far more trouble that sneaking out, especially since it’s getting late. But if she’s right and James is having her followed and nobody sees her leaving her apartment the next morning… Then again, if someone sees her coming in…  
God, why did she let her life become this mess?  
“So…this is it?”  
Crowley stares at her for a while, not making a single sound. Aziraphale sighs once more and drinks her whiskey “Right. I’ll be going then”  
“Don’t” he says, his voice merely a whisper but she freezes anyway “I… I don’t want this to stop” he sighs and stands up, heading towards the kitchen, probably to get some whiskey for himself “I don’t even know what “this” is” he adds and Aziraphale glances at the door, wondering if she should run. It might be the wise thing to do, but…  
“We should stop” she argues once he’s back “but I don’t want to, either”  
The problem is that none of them really know what are they doing “Then we’ll work it out” Crowley says “We’ll stick to your plan” he comes closer and kneels in front of her seat “I’ll be the best wedding planner you could ask for”  
Aziraphale laughs at that, but she soon sobers up when she feels his finger tracing circles on her knee. A delicious shiver runs across her back and she’s very tempted to test the theory that sleeping with Crowley would make all these feelings stop. But she knows she’s being foolish, so she stops that line of thought right away.  
“Okay. We’ll make it work” why is she making these promises? There’s no point. They’re not… they’re not even friends, for Someone’s sake! They’re something like coworkers, but that’s all. They should keep a professional relationship but…  
He smiles at her and sits back on the couch. He has brought back with him the whisky’s bottle and pours her another drink. She shouldn’t drink much, because she has to go back home and she has to work the next morning but…  
Here’s another thing she’s not supposed to be doing.  
Who’s counting, anyway?  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
When her phone rings the next morning, she groans. She came back to her apartment sometime around 2 o’clock, quite drunk and awfully tired. She’s not sure how she managed it, but she sneaked into her place with little effort. Or maybe with a lot of effort, she can’t honestly say she remembers.  
She rolls on her side and tries to ignore the incessant beeping of the blasted phone. It’s not use, though, however is calling is dead set on talking to her. So she finally stands up to retrieve her mobile and answers gruffly “Yes?”  
“Rough night?” she recognizes the voice, although she must admit she’s surprised he’s calling.   
“What’s up, Uriel?” she asks, immediately more alert, worrying that something has happened.  
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out” he says and before she starts panicking, he continues “You know you’re being followed?”  
“Yes” she responds, sitting down and taking long and deep breath, trying to calm her frenetically beating heart.  
“Hmph. I hoped so” he states, sounding slightly annoyed “I’m having a serious talk with whomever trains the surveillance recruits these days. They’re very bad at it”  
Aziraphale laughs. Trust Uriel to focus on the lack of abilities of the surveillance people instead of the fact that she’s being followed “I’m serious, Aziraphale” he tells her “I mean, they didn’t notice you leaving or you coming back and you made an awful lot of noise when you came back”  
Her laughter dies at his statement. He knows? He followed her? “I…”  
“Whatever you were doing, is your business” Uriel interrupts her “I’m just saying you shouldn’t be so sloppy. You’re lucky that the Metatron- oh, right, I’m sorry, James- didn’t ask for my help on this, because you’d be seriously screwed”  
“I think he knows better than to ask my foster brothers for help when it concerns me”  
Uriel chuckles lightly “Right. So, are you okay? Should I ask Michel to keep an eye on you?”  
“No. I don’t want any more eyes on me” she says, rolling her eyes “There’s nothing to worry about”  
“If you say so… Just be careful, Zira. If James is having one of his jealousy fits, then that’s quite alright” she can hear the mocking on his tone, but she doesn’t comment. She would point out that he throws jealousy fits every time his girlfriend doesn’t call, but she doesn’t. She’s not in the mood for teasing and besides, he’s sparing her a lot of awkward questions “however, if there’s something else…”  
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Uriel” she argues, having decided not to hand much information rewarding her situation “And please, don’t tell your brothers”  
There’s a pause on the other side of the line and Aziraphale sighs “You’ve already told them”  
“Just Raphael. He wanted to know why I was out late”  
She sighs once more. It’s not ideal, but she can work with this “Okay. Don’t tell the rest then”  
Not that it would make much difference.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Regardless of her slightly worrisome early morning call, Aziraphale is in a better mood. She spent a good part of the evening at Crowley’s place and after their awkward conversation, they had had a wonderful time; talking, drinking and generally goofing around, pretending everything was alright. Of course now she is hung over, her head feels like it is about to explode and her eyes are blood shot, but none of that matters much.  
She is happier than she had been in the last week.   
And it shows.  
Everyone in Heaven seemed to know about the rising tension between her and her fiancé and therefore everyone tried to avoid them as much as possible. For the last week, people had been hurrying away whenever Aziraphale came anywhere close to them but now everybody can see the enthusiasm she exuded. It’s ridiculous, really, because her problems are far from over, but after last night visit to Crowley’s, she is positive that nothing can bring her down.  
Her relationship with her enemy is risky, dangerous, insane, troublesome, completely suicidal.  
And it will just continue getting stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if this chapter makes much sense… thoughts, anyone? Pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading! Please comment!


	16. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning a wedding is never easy and it's even more complicated when you're half-way in love with the bride...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here’s a new chapter. I apologize for the delay; I really struggled to write this chapter. I knew where I wanted it to go, I just didn’t know how…  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“Who’s she talking to, anyway?” Crowley asks, after a while of listening to Anathema’s endless giggles. She and Aziraphale arrived at One Mayfair at 3 o’clock sharp and a few minutes later, the girl got a call and she has been talking to someone for the last 30 minutes, constantly giggling and getting on his nerves.  
Aziraphale smiles enigmatically “If my calculations are correct… then she’s talking to a trainee in the Spy Division. Newton Pulsifer, I think”  
“If your calculations are correct?”  
She offers him a coy smile that makes Crowley even more curious “Aren’t you glad we get to talk without interference?”  
“Of course” he responds “it’s just… does she have to giggle that much?”  
Aziraphale shakes her head good-naturedly “Ah, young love. Such a funny thing”  
“I thought your vision on love was quite cynic. Or is it just when it’s your own love life we’re discussing?”  
She frowns “I don’t have a love life, Crowley. I just have a fiancé”  
“Right” he agrees and sensing the darkening in Aziraphale’s mood, he decides to change topics “so; are you having a religious wedding? Have you thought of a church or should I…?” maybe it’s not exactly a change of topic, after all, but it’s a safer thing to discuss anyway.  
“No. No religious ceremony” and her tone is so final and dark, that Crowley thinks it was the wrong thing to ask. He sighs. This isn’t easy for him and Aziraphale isn’t making it any easier. Then again, planning the wedding of the woman you’re more than a little attracted to is definitely no piece of cake…  
“I’m sorry” she whispers “I just… lunch didn’t go that well”  
“Ah”  
They continue walking in silence, looking at the place’s gardens. It’s quite nice and the perfect setting for a wedding, Crowley thinks, and Aziraphale probably agrees, but it’s obvious she’s not very enthusiastic about the whole deal. It’s hard to be, he supposes, when you’re not really looking forward to the wedding at all.  
“So, care to explain about your calculations being right?”  
This does seem to lighten the mood and Aziraphale smiles once more “Well, a week ago, after my discussion with James, I figured I was going to end up with a chaperone. And I guessed that if Anathema ended as it, I might as well be prepared” her smile turns into a smirk and Crowley forces himself to look away, before he does something stupid “I had noticed Anathema paid a little too much attention to a certain recruit on the Spy Division, so I just asked Uriel for some random information and asked him to send Newt over… and then I asked Anathema to check on the info for me and well… they hit it off right away”  
“Wow. You’re a regular evil master mind, huh?”  
Aziraphale laughs “I try” she stops and Crowley finally notices the giggling has stopped a while ago. Apparently, they had managed to lose their chaperone “It worked, didn’t it?”  
“It’s a little over complicated for my tastes… but yes, I guess it worked” suddenly, something occurs him “you planned that on advance”  
“Yes. Why…?”  
“Which means you were always planning on keep on meeting with me. So last night conversation…”  
Aziraphale looks anguished for a couple of seconds and then she shrugs “I knew I wanted to keep on seeing you. So I took some provisions”  
His heart makes a little loop and Crowley groans internally. She just has to say something like that and feed that stupid hope inside him. He knows this isn’t leading them anywhere and yet, he keeps on hoping…  
“So, what do you think?”  
They both turn to face the woman that’s supposed to be showing them around, although they managed to stay a little behind her without her noticing for most of the tour. Aziraphale takes one last look at her surroundings and nods “It’s a beautiful place” she closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and she looks so lost and so broken, that Crowley wants to take her into his arms and console her “We’ll book it” she says after a couple of seconds, determined, all her previous distress impossible to discern In her now calm façade “April 26th”  
“Of course, Ms. Fell” the woman says “This way, please” she says, gesturing towards the office.  
Aziraphale follows right away and Crowley watches her go. He wants to stop her. He wants to beg her to stop this wedding. But he knows it’s futile, so he just closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and follows them.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
They sit in the office in tense silence. Anathema is standing outside the room, still talking on the phone (seriously, what can they possibly be talking about?), while Mandy (that’s the woman who showed them the place) is filling some over complicated format about the number of guests, food and drink preferences, music choices and some other stuff. Aziraphale answers patiently all of her questions, her gaze fixed on the small window next to her and Crowley just sits there and listens feeling deeply uncomfortable.  
“Full names of the groom and the bride” Mandy asks, still typing hurriedly.  
“James Good. And Aziraphale Engel” Mandy stares at Aziraphale surprised after she revels her name, but of course, she doesn’t even notice, busy as she is staring through the window. Mandy looks at him, as if she’s expecting him to be as surprised as she is and he supposes it’s understandable, considering he introduced his “client” as Angela Fell. He shrugs.  
“You’re one lucky lady Ms. Engel” Mandy comments, her attention back to the form she’s filling “a man like that… very lucky indeed”  
Crowley frowns. The Metatron is the lucky one, getting himself a woman like Aziraphale. He would say as much, if it wasn’t for Aziraphale speaking before he could “Yes, I am” she whispers solemnly, exchanging a quick glance with Crowley.  
He stands up, unable to stomach that. He wonders if she believes that and he hopes that she doesn’t. He makes a hasty exit, uncaring about the women’s reaction to him leaving. He just can’t handle that.  
He just can’t.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Crowley. Crowley. CROWLEY”  
“Huh?” he looks up from his computer, startled. Scarlett takes a seat on top of his desk, a smirk on her lips and he tries to look like he’s actually working, not moping about the engaged girl that he’s helping to plan her wedding.   
God, he’s so pathetic.  
“Hey Scarlett. What’s up?” he’s not particularly close to any of his work partners, but he likes Scarlett well enough. She’s a little crazy and with a blood lust that can’t possibly be healthy, but she’s still nicer than most people in Hell.  
Which tells us an awful lot about Crowley’s other associates, right?  
“I’m bored” she announces, swinging her legs to the other side of his desk, so now she’s facing him. Crowley gulps and rolls his chair a little away from her, while crossing his legs, which just makes Scarlett’s smirk wider.  
“Right. So…?”  
“So I decided to come and see what my favorite coworker is doing” she says, still smirking and Crowley gulps once more. He really doesn’t like Scarlett´s expression at all.  
“Ok… Well, I’m kinda busy right now, so…”  
“Oh, please” she huffs, sliding into his lap, forcing him to uncross his legs and making him feel more on edge. He knows this isn’t a friendly visit, but he just wishes Scarlett would get down to the point “I know you’ve finished with your reports early. I saw you handing them to Ligur”  
“Well, yes, but that’s not all I have to…”  
“Crowley, come on. Humor me”  
He sighs dramatically “I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”  
Scarlett smiles, placing a hand over his shoulder and the other on the nape of his neck. Crowley forces himself to stay calm, even if all his instincts are screaming for him to stand up and run as fast and far as he can “All right. What do you propose we do?”  
“Well” Scarlett says, running a finger across his cheek, sending unpleasant shivers down his spine, making him even more wary “Let’s talk about your mysterious girl”  
Crowley freezes. He tries to relax and keep his breath even, but he knows he won’t succeed. Maybe Scarlett is just bluffing; maybe she just wanted to see his reaction, but, what if she actually knows something? “What are you talking about?”  
“Don’t play coy, Crowley. Dark hair, somewhat short, was wearing an old tracksuit last night?”  
She saw her. Well, at least Aziraphale was wearing that awful wig of hers but… “There’s nothing to tell”  
“Oh, come on. You’re not convincing me it was some random one night stand” she presses closer to him and normally that would be a problem because, hey, he’s a guy, but right now his libido seems to have been overpowered by all the angst he’s feeling “You didn’t drive her home, but I could tell that’s because you didn’t even wanted her to go”  
In all truthfulness, he hadn’t driven her home because her paranoid fiancé was having someone keeping an eye on her (although whoever was doing it, was doing a very bad job at it) but Scarlett does have a point. He didn’t want her to go.  
“You also turned down sex with me. So I’m guessing it’s pretty serious”  
Crowley groans. He really doesn’t want to discuss it, especially not with any of his coworkers who wouldn’t hesitate to use any information against him. Scarlett laughs merrily “Come on. You know I’m not going to stop pestering you until you tell me”  
That’s also true. And he knows just how bothersome Scarlett can be “It’s not serious” he tells her, if only to get her off his back “she’s… married” or soon to be. It doesn’t really matter. It makes no difference at all.  
“Ah… is that why you’re so mopey?”  
“I’m not…” he starts protesting, but then he rethinks his statement. She’s right, of course. He’s quite depressed, especially after Aziraphale’s commentary… “Never mind”  
“Ah, poor Crowley. Someone broke his heart” Scarlett laughs merrily “so what, she was visiting last night to tell you it was over?”  
Quite the contrary. Even if it’s not exactly in the way Scarlett means it “Something like that” something occurs him then “Are you following me?”  
Scarlett snorts “Don’t be ridiculous Crowley; I got better things to do with my time than follow you around. I just… happened to be in the neighborhood” her dark smirk tells him he really doesn’t want to know what was she up to “Anyway, buck up. A handsome man like yourself will find someone else soon enough” she winks at him and leans closer, her lips hovering over his. Crowley rolls his eyes, which makes her laugh again.  
Someone clears his throat behind them “Am I interrupting something?” Ligur asks, staring at Crowley enviously.  
“Of course not” he argues, shoving Scarlett off and she pouts mockingly “What’s up?”  
“Someone drop this for you” Ligur says, handing him an envelope. It’s sealed, his name written on the front. He stares at it suspiciously and soon realizes his companions are waiting for him to open it. Rolling his eyes, he complies.  
Written on the envelope, in Aziraphale’s careful calligraphy reads “I’m sorry?” the question mark letting him know she doesn’t quite understand why he stormed out earlier. He sighs and proceeds to inspect the envelope’s contents.  
Two tickets and an invitation to Heaven’s Charity Ball.  
The biggest event in the city, organized annually in Heaven’s Headquarters. Only the richest and the most famous get invited and technically, all those who go are Heaven’s Supporters. But of course, that not always true.  
“Wow” Scarlett says, picking up one of the tickets “you didn’t mention she was loaded. Or in Heaven’s good-doers list”  
“Her husband is” Crowley says absent mindedly, wondering what exactly Aziraphale expects him to do with this. It’s a strange apology, to say at least. She’s giving him access to an exclusive event and if someone ever finds out…  
There’ll be hell to pay.  
“Can I come with you?” Scarlett asks enthusiastically and Crowley just nods, still processing what’s happening. He doesn’t understand Aziraphale’s angle, but he knows you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and if she decided this kind of bribery was needed in order to get his pardon…  
Well, he’ll just go with it.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“What do you think of this one?”   
Crowley eyes Scarlett without much attention. They’re picking out their outfits for the Ball, but the girl has tried on a least 15 different dresses and he’s getting tired. Besides, it’s been 3 days since the last time he saw Aziraphale and he’s already grouchy.   
“I don’t think gold it’s a good idea” he informs her “we’re supposed to be undercover”  
Scarlett pouts “But I look smoking hot in this”  
He rolls his eyes “Undercover, Scarlett”  
She pouts some more but goes back to change. It’s quite lucky that the Ball is supposed to be a masquerade and Crowley is not willing to compromise their cover because Scarlett wants to catch everyone’s eye. Of course, the sexier she looks, the easier she’ll find to get whatever information she deems worthy from her “suitors” but still…  
He walks around the store’s aisles, trying to distract himself. He’s itching to call Aziraphale, but he’s not sure what should he say. How can he explain his outburst without telling her what he feels? This is getting more and more complicated…  
Something catches his eye. Right in the middle of the store stands a mannequin, showcasing a gorgeous red dress, form fitting on the top, off shoulders, A-line at the bottom. It’s simple and yet, very dashing.  
Aziraphale would look beautiful in it.  
So he finds himself buying it and hurriedly hides his purchase with the clothes he bought for himself in the back of his car. When he comes back looking for Scarlett, he finds her paying for a simple black dress, apparently not having noticed his little escapade.   
He doesn’t know why he keeps doing things like that.  
He just know that when it comes to Aziraphale, he can’t help himself.  
And that’s potentially deadly.  
He doesn’t really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what do you think? Let me know! Thanks for reading!


	17. Don't marry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale keeps finding reasons not to marry (including obnoxious mother-in-law), but she's still convinced it's her best call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Hope you enjoy it!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

It’s been a little over 10 minutes since she came back from her “errand” (meaning delivering the tickets for the Ball to Crowley) and she’s already regretting it. Aziraphale sighs, running her fingers through her hair. What was she thinking? It’s simply too stupid. Who is she trying to get killed? Herself or Crowley? Or both?  
However… she needed to apologize. She knows Crowley is angry with her, because he has made his life’s mission to convince her that she’s worth more than what people usually think of her and therefore, her fiancé is lucky to have her. At some conscious level, she knows that’s the truth. But deep down she can’t quite believe it.  
Which doesn’t mean that she’s looking forward to her wedding at all. Nor does it mean that if she found some way to break off her engagement, without giving James the satisfaction of knowing that he’s right (and risking her life along the way), she wouldn’t take it. She really doesn’t want to get married.  
Too late for that, though.  
She passes James’ office and notices he’s apparently arguing with Uriel. She tenses immediately, praying to every deity she knows that they’re not discussing her late night endeavors. She forces herself to keep walking and try not to look to suspicious, but she’s not quite sure if she’s being successful.  
She locks herself into her office and cradles her head in her arms. God, when did she become this stupid? She knows she can’t keep on seeing Crowley. She knows this and yet…  
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on her door and she has no other choice but to answer it. Uriel and Michel are standing there, staring at her with identical worried looks. She sighs and invites them in with a gesture.  
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light. While they take a seat, she considers keep on standing, subtly hinting that she wants to keep this visit as short as possible, but decides against it in the last minute.  
“Are you okay?” Uriel asks, worriedly and she ponders the question carefully. Finally, she decides against answering and instead poses a question of her own “What were you doing in James’ office?”  
“He’s trying to get Uriel to keep an eye on you” Michel responds “not that he’s not doing it already, but of course, he won’t report back at him”  
“Guys…”  
“We’re worried about you, Zira” Michel interrupts her “and we’re not above using every resource available to us to make sure you’re alright”  
“Michel, I’m…”  
“You’re not” Uriel is the one who interrupts this time.  
This effectively silences her. She wonders how far did Uriel follow her the night before. Does he know who she was visiting? She doesn’t think so; there’s no way they would let something like that go unreported. The Archangels love her like a baby sister, but surely they would draw a line if they thought she was betraying Heaven.  
And she isn’t, of course, but how could they know for sure?  
“If you don’t want to get married…”  
“I’m not discussing this with you” Aziraphale sentences darkly. Her personal life is none of their concern and she can’t really explain all that’s going on… there’s so much at stake; so much depends on this wedding taking place and she playing the part of the perfect bride…  
Which she’s not really doing right now, but still…  
The brothers stare at each other, seemingly holding a silent conversation and Aziraphale forces herself not to start squirming. She’s tense and uncomfortable, but most of all, she feels tired. She started this morning feeling invigorated after the night at Crowley’s and now…  
There’s a new knock on her door and she sighs, knowing already who’s on the other side “Come in” she says, resigned. As she expected, James is standing there. He stares at the Archangels, rolls his eyes dramatically and enters.  
“I just thought I would let you know that it would be better if we stayed at our own apartments for the following week”  
“Why?” Aziraphale asks, even though she’s relieved. She’s not sure how she’s going to manage sharing an apartment once they’re married because she rather likes having her own place, but the fact that she’ll get a whole week on her own…  
“My parents are visiting”  
Aziraphale bangs her head on her desk as she groans loudly. From the corner of her eye, she catches her companions flinching at the sound, but she doesn’t really care. There are more pressing matters.  
Great, exactly what she needs. Her in-laws are visiting.  
Can it get any worse?  
“We’re having dinner with them tomorrow, though”  
And that’s what she gets for tempting her luck.  
___________________________________________________________________________________  
There was a time when all that Aziraphale wanted to do with her life was get married, have children and be a perfect little wife and mother. Of course she also thought of going to college and getting a job, but those weren’t really important. Her highest priority would be her family.  
But a lot of things happened when she turned 16 and as the image of her parents’ perfect marriage shattered, so did her plans for a future as a wife and a mother. She decided she wanted more of life… and of course, by the time she turned 18, discovered the dreadful truth of her family and she and James broke up, she had no intention whatsoever to marry or have children.  
And yet, here she is now, having dinner with her in-laws, trying very hard not to pick up a fight with her future mother-in-law rewarding her vision of what her life should become once she gets married.  
“I don’t think I’ll be quitting my job, Margareth” Aziraphale sentences darkly, taking a large gulp of her glass of wine.  
“And what do you plan on doing with my grandchildren, then? You can’t be seriously considering daycare…”  
“Maybe” she argues as calmly as she can, but her patience is wearing thin “Maybe we won’t have children at all. James and I…”  
“Oh, please, Aziraphale” her mother-in-law scoffs “don’t be ridiculous. James, tell your wife to stop being ridiculous”  
She would like to point out she’s not his wife yet, but she knows she has to choose her battles when dealing with her mother-in-law “I’m not being…”  
“Because really, Aziraphale, why else would James be getting married to you?”  
She stares at her fiancé, and seeing he’s not going to intervene, she asks “What is that supposed to mean?”  
Margareth rolls her eyes “I mean you’re a dreadful at housekeeping and he’s already having sex with you, so…”  
Oh, she did not just say that. That’s so… so…! “Excuse me” she says, standing up and walking away quickly, before she starts yelling. She’s angry at James for not defending her and she’s angry at herself for letting something like this bother her. She knows how her in-laws think. Old-fashioned, you could call them, but Aziraphale thinks they are just basically full of shit. She knows her fiancé doesn’t really share their views, but she also knows he won’t get into an argument with his parents for her sake.  
Which tells an awful lot about their relationship.  
As she strolls out of the restaurant, she takes a deep breath and leans against the wall once outside. She wants to go home and curl on her bed and never get up. Or better yet, she wants to go to Crowley’s and lay on his bed, with him on top of her, kissing her and…  
No, no, no! She’s not thinking that!  
She looks through the window and sees her in-laws and her fiancé. Margareth is frowning (probably due her hasty exit) while her husband tries to get her to relax. James’ back is to her, so she really doesn’t know what he’s doing.  
She sighs and leans against the wall once more. She can’t handle this. She won’t be able to get through this dinner without yelling and she won’t be able to go through this marriage without losing herself…  
But she must. The show must go on, regardless of her feelings on the matter. It’s vital that this wedding takes place. She sneaks another glance at her in-laws. In the end, James might chose not to reveal her secrets if she doesn’t marry him. His parents, however…  
That’s an entirely different matter.  
Her mobile is beeping, so she takes it out and sees a new message. She opens it, one eyebrow arched and finds a text from her fiancé. "Are you coming back or are you heading back home?"  
She considers it. She knows she should go back and yet… "I’m going home".  
A few seconds pass without answer. Then… "Alright. GO HOME".  
Don’t go to Crowley’s. She’s quite certain he doesn’t know she has been to her enemy’s apartment, but still, the message seems to relay said order. She sighs once more and starts walking, hoping to catch a cab soon, because it’s late and she’s tired and…  
And she just really wants to be home.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________  
There’s someone in her apartment. Aziraphale climbs the stairs, trying not to get her hopes up. Crowley might have already decided to forgive her (she gave him two tickets to Heaven’s Charity Ball, after all!) but she doubts he’ll show up at her apartment knowing that her fiancé is keeping an eye on her.  
She heads towards the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water and heads towards her bedroom. The light is on and there’s a man sitting on her bed, but not the one she wants to. Later, she’ll feel guilty about her disappointment, but right now, she’s just upset.  
“What are you doing here, Michel?”  
Her boss looks up from the magazine he’s reading and stares at her carefully. He pats the space next to him on bed and Aziraphale rolls her eyes, but complies to the unspoken request. She sits and lets her head rest against Michel’s shoulder, before sighing dramatically “I’m so tired” she whispers and her companion throws an arm around her shoulders comfortingly.  
“I know” he says “I hope that whatever you’re hiding is worth all of this”  
Aziraphale considers telling him the truth. Then she thinks better of it.  
“Yes. It is”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________  
Next morning, she wakes up as early as usual. She prepares breakfast trying to make as little noise as possible, considering Michel is sleeping on the floor of what would be her living room. She has a couch on the backstore and she offered to share the bed, but Michel refused both options, preferring to settle on the floor with some pillows and a comfy blanket.  
Someone knocks on the back door and Aziraphale arches her eyebrows. Who would be visiting this early? She throws on a robe and heads downstairs but as soon she opens the door, she wishes she hadn’t.  
“Good morning, Margareth”  
Both she and her future mother-in-law are early risers. James and his father like to sleep late, although her fiancé doesn’t get the chance to do it a lot. However, since it’s the weekend, she suspects she’ll have to handle Margareth on her own for a long while.  
“Morning, Aziraphale. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”  
She’s tempted to say “no” but finally just opens the door and her mother-in-law lets herself in. She climbs the stairs without waiting for Aziraphale to say it’s okay to do so and she sighs. It’s going to be a long morning. Although now she’s thankful that Crowley didn’t show up last night. This whole encounter would be far more awkward if…  
“Aziraphale!”  
Oh. Right. Michel.   
Damn.  
It’s official. Her life sucks.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________  
“I really think you shouldn’t marry” Michel tells her later, when she joins him for a “shopping trip”, looking for something to wear to the Ball, in an attempt to escape another meal with James’ parents “Your mother-in-law is…”  
“Awful?”  
“Well, yes. And she seems to hate you”  
“Yes, I think she does” Aziraphale smiles, while Michel picks a bunch of suits to try on “are you really going to buy a new suit for the Ball?”  
“Yes” Michel responds in all seriousness “and you should buy a new dress”  
Aziraphale scoffs “I don’t see the point. I hate dresses”  
Michel rolls his eyes, while he picks some shirts to match the suits “Well, it’s your choice, I suppose” he pauses once they’re standing in front of the changing rooms “Zira, I… I wish you would reconsider this marriage business. You deserve so much more that a marriage of convenience”  
Why are all (well, most) of the men in her life set on convincing her not to marry? She sighs “I’ll be fine, Michel. Don’t worry about me”  
He stares at her, measuring her words. Finally, shaking his head and sighing, he concedes defeat “There’s no changing your mind, is it? You were always so headstrong”  
Aziraphale just smiles sadly.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Two days before the Ball, after yet another god-awful dinner with her in-laws, she finds the light of her room on again. There’s no sign of a visitor, except for the small box resting over her bed. She opens it, revealing a beautiful red dress that immediately makes her smile and then roll her eyes good-naturedly.  
Apparently, Crowley is also dead-set on improving her style.  
The thought makes her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? I managed to write an update regardless of my boss attempts to get me to work instead of write! LOL  
> Anyway, I meant to include much more scenes, but I just couldn’t manage to write them as funny as they sounded in my head, so I decided against them. I hope the timing within the story isn’t confusing, but I’m not sure…  
> Oh, and I finally have a title, you noticed? It comes from the song I mentioned previously, “barely breathing” What do you think?  
> Thanks for reading!


	18. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension runs high between the two "enemy" agents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it seems my bosses are set on not letting me write and making me work… it’s not really working, though. LOL  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

By the time the Ball comes around, Crowley is in a very dark mood. He still hasn’t called Aziraphale and he’s missing her. It’s silly, he knows, because just a while ago they just saw each other once a month but he can’t help it. He’s sulky and snappy and it’s all her fault.  
He sighs and tries to focus on his current mission. He and Scarlett are supposed to go to the Ball and gather as much information as possible rewarding the goings-on in Edinburg; apparently there’s something big happening and his bosses want to know what. Tonight’s Ball is a huge opportunity for them and he knows that if he messes up, he’ll be in deep trouble.  
He’s not particularly concerned, though. All her really cares about is seeing Aziraphale.  
He and Scarlett arrived early and started socializing. The girl is brilliant; she knows exactly what to ask and how to ask it, managing to find out what they need, without making anyone suspicious. Heck, they’ve been talking to a couple of Heaven’s Lieutenants and the fools haven’t noticed just how much information they’re giving away while they try to flirt with Scarlett.  
He’ll have to tell Aziraphale to keep a closer eye on her subordinates.  
Well, no. Actually, he shouldn’t say a thing.  
What is it about Aziraphale that makes him want to play fair?  
The Ball is held in a salon beneath Heaven’s Headquarters. The top floors are carefully warded, but maybe he could sneak into the offices. He decides against the idea; if he’s caught the truce would be over and besides, those aren’t his orders.   
Also, Aziraphale would be very mad at him if he did.  
Every now and then, the man in the entrance announces when a high-ranked officer arrives. He supposes he’ll hear when Aziraphale comes in, but he can’t help to keep trying to locate her in the crowd, thinking maybe she came in without making a fuss. Scarlett smirks indulgently at him every time she catches him looking around, thinking he’s trying to locate his “mysterious girl”. He won’t even try to set her straight.  
People start murmuring excitedly and heads turn towards the stairs. Crowley looks at the new arrivals and his breath catches. Aziraphale stands there, wearing the red dress he bought for her and he regrets his purchase right away. She looks beyond beautiful, with her blond hair pulled to the side and her lips as red as her dress…  
And her fiancé’s arm around her waist.  
“Chief Commander James Good and Capitan Aziraphale Good”  
Not yet, he thinks while a low and angry hiss escapes his lips. She’s not yet that jerk’s wife and if he can help it, she won’t ever be. Not that he’s being particularly successful on his attempt to convince her not to marry, but still…  
He’s a little relieved to see the way Aziraphale tenses, sending a dark glare in her fiancé’s direction. However, the Metatron barely notices, busy as he is, smiling for the cameras. Aziraphale smiles and poses too, looking a little stiff, but Crowley doubts anyone besides him has noticed.  
They are now standing at the end of the stairs, posing for a few last photographs, when Commander Michel Archangel arrives. After being announced, Michel hurries down the stairs and says something to Aziraphale, which makes her half turn towards him and a new series of whispers and stares start, as she presents her back to the crowd.  
On her shoulders, Aziraphale has a pair of wings tattooed. Her hair is just long enough that under normal circumstances, the tattoo would be covered, but thanks to the dress cut and the way she pinned her hair to the side, the tattoo is on full display.  
Crowley suddenly has a vision of placing his lips just in the conjecture of both wings and kissing his way down her spine, all the while she shivers deliciously and…  
Okay, better to stop thinking about that.  
Scarlett is laughing at something their companions have just said and he forces himself to pay attention. He can’t keep daydreaming about the woman who is supposed to be his enemy. This is a huge opportunity for them and he needs to make the best out of it or he’ll be in deep trouble.  
And if his eyes stray every now and then towards his counterpart…  
Well, nobody needs to know.  
_________________________________________________________________  
He has never seen Aziraphale interact with so many people and for some reason, he thought she wouldn’t be this graceful. She listens politely, makes people laugh and keeps them interested in whatever she’s saying. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised; after all, the girl managed to catch his fancy since their very first meeting, but…  
And as the night progresses, he finds himself increasingly jealous of the men who approach her. Some just talk to her, a few ask for a dance. Aziraphale smiles charmingly and behaves accordingly to the situation; the image of a perfect hostess. Thankfully, her fiancé seems to be too busy to actually spend time with her, but she doesn’t lack male attention and Crowley finds that deeply troubling.  
Tired of just watching, and taking advantage of the fact that Scarlett is too entranced with some rich guy, he approaches his supposed enemy “You look quite lovely, Capitan Good”  
The way her face lights up at the sound of his voice, makes him grin. “It’s Capitan Engel, thank you very much” she tells him, with a playful smile and a slight glare.  
He shrugs “Not for long” and even if he’s uncomfortable with that knowledge, he takes comfort in the fact that she seems more troubled at the thought.  
“I suppose you’re right” she whispers and he curses himself, because, really, way to damper her mood. She looks around the room and so does he, finding her fiancé with a large group of people, also accompanied by a woman who looks quite a lot like him, so Crowley supposes she’s his mother.  
“Wanna dance?” he asks, noticing the slight frown of his companion. Aziraphale turns to him, eying him appraisingly and finally offers him her hand “Lead the way” she tells him and Crowley complies.  
He presses her closer than strictly necessary, but he doesn’t think Aziraphale minds. She’s not quite a skilled dancer, so they just sway lightly, enjoy each other’s warmth “How’s the wedding planning coming along?” he asks, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, making her shiver.  
“Fine, I guess. Especially considering my wedding planner walked out on me”  
“Well, I’m sure you’re fiancé could help you around. After all, he’s such a thoughtful fellow and you’re so lucky…”  
“Is that what your little display was about?” Aziraphale hisses, a bit venomously “what did you want me to say, my dear? It’s not like…”  
“He’s lucky to have you. He’s lucky that you’re so afraid of whatever he holds over you, that you’re willing to put up with this farce to keep him quiet”  
“You make it sound like he was awful to me”  
He shrugs “I just know he doesn’t make you happy”  
“Marriage is not about happiness” she tells him, matter-of-factly, no longer swinging to the music “and all of you people should realize that and stop trying to tell me what to do”  
And with that, she pulls away. Crowley lets her go, even if he wants to grab her wrist and take her away from here. He sighs, knowing he’s behaving like a fool. He also wonders who else has been trying to convince her not to marry. From the corner of his eye he sees Michel trying to approach her and tell her something, but Aziraphale brushes him off and heads towards her fiancé. She slips her hand into the Metatron’s and he arches his eyebrows, but then just smiles smugly in Michel’s direction (earning a glare from the Archangel) and carries on with his conversation.  
Well, that answers his question.  
And raises many others. He knows Aziraphale is on friendly basis with the Archangels and he knows she used to live with them but that’s about it. He frowns, trying to think what’s going on between Aziraphale and Michel as hot red jealousy fills his veins. Ridiculous, he knows, especially because Aziraphale is engaged but…  
“Hey, hot stuff, are you alright?” Scarlett stares at him funnily and he forces himself to tear his eyes away from the woman who haunts his every thought. He nods curtly and although Scarlett doesn’t seem half convinced, she lets it go “so, I think we could call it a night. Do you wanna leave or wanna get wasted on Heaven’s expense?”  
“You really need to ask?”  
Scarlett just laughs.  
_____________________________________________________________________  
As the night progresses and he keeps getting drunker and drunker, Crowley stops trying to keep an eye on his “enemy” the whole time. So it’s a mere coincidence when somewhere around midnight, he catches Aziraphale in a deep discussion with her fiancé. They aren’t raising their voices, but he can tell they’re arguing by the way Aziraphale’s back is completely straight and she holds her glass of wine with much more force than necessary; in fact, she’s a few seconds away from shattering it. Her whole body is in such a state of tension that she seems ready to snap, but he doesn’t know if anyone else can see it. By the absolute lack of interest of the press, he assumes the answer is no.  
Finally, Aziraphale closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and pushes her fiancé out of her way. She heads towards the stairs, not even once looking back and Crowley follows her without a thought. Scarlett is long gone (probably hooked up with someone, Crowley doesn’t really wish to speculate) so he doesn’t have to worry about making up excuses.  
Once outside, he can’t locate Aziraphale, but he guesses she has headed towards her home so he goes looking for his car, parked a few streets away (after all, it’s a quite recognizable car and besides he hates leaving it to the Valets)   
It doesn’t take long for him to locate Aziraphale. She has barely walked a couple of streets and he can’t quite blame her: she’s wearing some killer heels “Need a ride?”  
She’s so entranced in her own thoughts that it takes a few minutes for her to register that someone is talking to her. When she finally notices, she frowns “You’re too drunk to drive”  
“Nah” Crowley responds flippantly “and even if I am, dying now would save you a lot of trouble”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes but opens the passenger’s door and climbs in the car. Crowley smiles smugly, earning another eye-roll and he heads towards Aziraphale’s apartment. His companion seems lost in thought, so he doesn’t try to make small talk and he also figures he should concentrate on driving if he wants them to make it to the flat in one piece.  
“Are you really quitting?” Aziraphale asks him, after a few minutes, staring intently at him. Crowley stares back for a couple of seconds, wondering what she’s really asking.  
“No” he tells her, placing a hand over her knee “I’m not quitting on you, Zira”  
She stares at the hand on her knee, but doesn’t respond. She understands the implications of his statement and is giving careful consideration to his words “Maybe you should. It would be wiser”  
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if she really expects an answer, but he thinks she doesn’t. She wants him by her side through all of this, even if she can’t bring herself to admit it out loud. And he wants to be here for her, even if it’s tearing him apart.  
It’s crazy really, the intensity of his feelings for this woman. He barely knows her and yet…  
He’ll do anything for her.  
____________________________________________________________________________  
They arrive at her apartment a few minutes later. The street is empty and Crowley doesn’t particularly care if someone sees them, so he parks in front of the building. Aziraphale opens the door and heads towards the backstore and the stairs, barely sparing a glance in his direction to make sure he’s following.   
Once inside her bedroom she looks over her shoulder at him and gestures towards the zipper of her dress. Crowley helps her out of it, his fingers following the path of skin the zipper reveals as it opens. Aziraphale lets the dress pool at her feet, not bothering to cover herself, not even a bit self-conscious. She just stands there in her plain underwear, her tattooed wings looking beautiful in the moonlight. In some ways, it’s the most erotic sight that Crowley has ever witnessed.  
But her eyes are empty and she just looks tired. He thinks that if he pushed her towards the bed, she would let him do as he pleased, but he also knows he won’t do that to her. He cares too much and it would feel so wrong…  
It’s not really about attraction. This thing between them is beyond physical. It runs deeper, beneath the skin, beneath their bones, in their very souls. It’s powerful and uncompressible and terrible.  
But so perfect he can’t imagine it being any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm… not so sure about this chapter. In my head it sounded better… but that happens a lot. Anyway, thoughts? By the way, I’m looking for a beta-reader, because I’m starting to get the impression that my grammar is seriously bad…


	19. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running away is not really an option... but Aziraphale wishes it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Enjoy!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

As they lay in bed next to each other, Aziraphale ponders her next course of action. She’s mostly naked now, not having bothered with putting on some pajamas. She’s tired and although it’s cold outside, she feels like she’s burning. Crowley’s fingers skim over her body, a gentle reassuring pressure. His eyes travel her body now and then, but mostly stay focused on her own. Although his gaze is intense, there’s not actual lust in there. Just open curiosity and wonder.  
She’s pretty sure they shouldn’t be doing this. Then again, it doesn’t actually feel wrong. It’s quite pleasant, actually. Not quite pleasurable, because the touches are more reassuring than arousing. Still, she feels like she could spend the rest of the night (of her life) like this.  
“You should try to get some sleep” Crowley murmurs “you look like you need it”  
She continues staring at him, not saying a word, afraid to break the delicate equilibrium they have somehow achieved. She wants to get closer to him, kiss him, make love to him. And that’s odd, really, because although she’s not stranger to sex, she doesn’t use the term “make love”. She has always thought it’s a silly romantic notion.  
But she can’t help to think that it would be what they would be doing, if she gives into her instincts.  
Aziraphale sighs, closing her eyes. Obviously, she’s too tired for this. It has been a hellish week, dealing with her in-laws and James constantly monitoring her every move. She’s on edge and that’s the reason she got into a fight with her fiancé over whether she is taking his last name or not. Is something so silly and yet…  
It’s just the tip of the iceberg and she knows it. In the end, it all comes down to the fact that she doesn’t wish to marry. And everyone keeps telling her that she shouldn’t and that infuriates her even more. Why do the people in her life always think they know better than her? Why must everyone always try to control her every move? Why would no one trust her choices?  
She opens her eyes and sees Crowley’s gaze fixed on the small circles he’s tracing over her stomach. She feels relaxed under his touch and she supposes that’s what he’s hoping to achieve. He hasn’t tried to make a move on her and she knows he won’t. He likes her, she’s pretty sure of that, but he won’t try anything. If she wants this to become something else, she’ll have to make the first move.  
And she won’t. Regardless of what her fiancé might think, she’s not a cheater. Not in that sense, at least.  
“Are you staying the night?” she whispers softly, her own hand caressing his cheek. Crowley nuzzles her palm, a soft smile tracing his lips and she wishes she could pursue this. But she can’t and she really should put some distance between them.  
“Do you want me to leave?”  
“No” she responds in all honesty, retreating her hand. Crowley makes a small noise to show his discomfort, but says nothing.  
“Alright” he tells her “then I’ll stay. Good night, angel”  
“Good night, my dear”  
And with that, she tries to get some sleep.  
___________________________________________________________________________________  
She mostly succeeds. She wakes up sometime around dawn, Crowley firmly wrapped around her, preventing her from getting cold. She smiles, letting herself bask in the warmth of the man pressed against her and wiles herself to go back to sleep. However, now that she has awoken, her mind refuses to shut down again.  
Her thoughts chase each other around, going in circles, driving her mad. She’s a little hungover, considering she drank quite a lot the night before, but she doesn’t feel sick. She’s worried, though. And uncertain about where she’s standing.  
She wants to run away. Run away from her troubles, leave everything behind. She should have, a couple of years ago. Heck, she should have as soon as her family attempted to kill her (and she them) It would have been wiser.  
Too late for that, though. She’s stuck here, with this life she has rebuilded. And she does like her life, if only…  
Sighing, she gets out of bed. Crowley protests when she pries his arms away, but he doesn’t wake up, so she considers it a victory. She stares at her companion for a while, ignoring the cold biting her skin. She has known for a while that this whole… thing with Crowley is a bad idea. That it would bring her nothing but trouble and heartache and yet, she knows she won’t stop. She can’t.   
She stands up and goes looking for some clothes. She puts on a tracksuit and pulls her hair in a ponytail. Her make up from last night looks awful now, so she washes her face. With another sigh, she leaves the apartment.  
She stands in front of the bookstore, staring at the empty street. She bits her lip, unsure of what to do. She can’t stand still any longer and she wants to clear her head, so she figures she will go for a run.  
She hurries down the street, picking up speed. After a few minutes, she’s jogging and a little later, she’s running.  
Although her work requires her to stay fit, she doesn’t like cardio. It shows in her body, of course, that’s why she’s not as skinny as most Field Agents. She’s more of a weight-lifting girl and if pressed to do cardio, she’ll choose boxing. She hates running. She’s always running away.  
Her lungs hurt after a while and so do her legs. That’s because she’s not breathing properly and she didn’t do some warming up. However, she doesn’t particularly care. She’s not training. She’s just trying to clear her head.  
The pain helps, for her mind stays blissfully blank while she runs around the neighborhood. She doesn’t know how long she runs, but it must have been a couple of hours, because when she comes back, the sun is high in the sky.   
Crowley is still asleep on her bed and she wonders if he’s always such a heavy sleeper. Is a wonder that he has managed to stay alive for so long, if that’s the case. Actually, it’s a complete wonder that Crowley is an Agent of Hell at all. He’s careless, loud and Aziraphale very much doubts he’s particularly good at combat (then again, no one would guess how good she’s at fighting by just looking at her) And also, he’s got certain sweetness…  
He’s the Serpent, though. And she’s read enough about his exploits to be fooled into thinking he’s harmless. His approach on things might not be very hands-on, but he’s just as dangerous as she is.  
She undresses and heads towards the bathroom, planning to take a long shower. The water is warm and her now sore muscles are thankful for it. She sighs, resting her forehead against the shower’s tiles. Reluctantly, she forces herself to snap out of her pity party and starts actually washing herself. Last night was… troubling, to say at least. She shouldn’t have reacted the way she did at James’ careless comment about not mattering whether she was addressed from now on as Capitan Aziraphale Good. It matters. She’s not sure why, but it does.  
She’s Aziraphale Engel. That’s the name she chose for herself. That’s the person she has become.  
Sometimes she wishes things hadn’t changed so much. She wishes she hadn’t been so curious and had dug so deep into her family’s secrets. She could have been happier not knowing. Living a lie… would it have been so bad?  
She punches the wall, suddenly angry with herself. What’s the matter with her? How can she even begin to think…? After all this time, to think that it’s such a betrayal to herself…  
“Zira? You okay?” Crowley’s voice is tick with sleep, but it’s obvious he’s concerned by her sudden outburst. Curious, that he heard her. She didn’t think she had punched the wall with too much strength…  
“Yeah. I’m fine”  
She isn’t.  
And she’s starting to believe she has never been.  
______________________________________________________________________________________  
“Are you sure…?”  
“Crowley, I’m a grown up woman. I’ll be fine”  
“Hum. Defensive much?”  
“Shut up”  
He laughs warmly and kisses her forehead softly “Okay. Give me a call if you need anything, angel. Unlike you, I have no qualms in giving you my mobile’s number”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes, remembering walking out of the shower to find her counterpart with her phone, saving his own number. She smiles fondly at him “I’ll see you around. We’ve still got much to plan”  
His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but she understands that. This thing they’re doing is wrong in many levels “Goodbye, angel”  
“Goodbye, my dear”  
________________________________________________________________________________________  
“You’re coming for dinner?”  
Aziraphale doesn’t ask if she’s got a choice. Neither does she bother to pretend she’s still angry or wary after their discussion the night before “Sure. I’ll see you at your place”  
“Our place, Aziraphale”  
“Not yet”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________  
She gets back home late at night, thankful that her in-laws are leaving tomorrow. This hellish trial is finally over. Now her troubles are back at normal and she’s thankful for that. Of course, it also means that she’ll start spending the nights at James’ again and that she’ll have to be sneakier when she meets with Crowley. But it could be worse.  
Isn’t that the story of her life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well… I’m really not sure about this chapter. I always overestimate my ability to write the scenes I sketch in my head. They would be difficult to write in Spanish and they’re even more difficult in English… oh well…  
> So, what did you think? I feel the ending is a bit rushed, but I wasn’t sure where to go from here. I have another scene sketched, but I believe it works better as a new chapter. I just didn’t like how it would have worked in this particular chapter…  
> Anyway, enough rambling. Thanks for reading. Comments? Pretty please?


	20. Work to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is supposed to be working. And yet, he keeps choosing to focus on the wedding. Which is a little weird, considering he's trying to stop it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“Oh, will you please give it a break? You know he never listens to you anyway!”  
“That’s not… what do you mean he never listens anyway?”  
“Seriously? You’ve never noticed he’s ignoring you?”  
“That’s… I… what?!”  
“Oh, Hastur, please…”  
“I’m… I’m not here to talk to argue with you, anyway. CROWLEY! Get your lazy ass in my office right now!”  
“Huh?”  
Crowley looks up from his computer to find Hastur and Scarlett standing at his office’s entrance. The first looks livid, while the second one looks merely amused. By the way his boss is glaring at him, he assumes he’s been standing there for a long while, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got too many things to do and he can’t bother with whatever his boss wants.  
Of course, he hasn’t done a single work-related thing in the whole day, but that’s not the point!  
“My office. NOW”  
As Hastur storms away, he and Scarlett exchange a look before bursting into amused laughter. Hastur aims for threatening and imposing, but he fails every time and yet, his attempts never fail to amuse them “Come on, lover boy” Scarlett says, after a while “let’s get moving before he comes again to get us”  
Crowley rolls his eyes at the nickname, but complies. He needed a break, anyway. Wedding planning is an awful lot of work. So much work in fact, that he thinks he would have shot himself long time ago if it was his actual job.  
Once they get into Hastur’s office, the higher ranked agent reward them with what is supposed to be a menacing look, but it’s not really that terrorizing. Scarlett takes a seat on top of the desk, earning another glare from their boss that immediately turns something else entirely when he sees the rather ridiculous miniskirt the woman is wearing.  
Once more, Crowley rolls his eyes.  
He chooses to stand, leaning casually against the door, wishing the meeting to be over as soon as possible. He’s still got a lot of research to do, from wedding invitations, to flower arrangements, to wedding rings, to wedding dresses…  
Okay, maybe he should concentrate in his work for a while.  
“So, what’s up boss?” Scarlett asks, picking some random object on Hastur’s desk and examining it as it was the most amazing thing she has ever seen “What’s so important to pull Crowley from his unrequited love mopping?”  
Crowley scowls. He’s not mopping. Well, maybe a little. Still, now he’s in a better mood than he was a week ago. Now at least he has the memory of Aziraphale lying mostly naked next to him to keep him company when he’s feeling particularly low.  
Hastur is staring at him curiously and Crowley wonders why his love life (or lack of it) seems to be so interesting to his coworkers. Finally, Hastur looks back at Scarlett and proceeds to explain why he’s called them “It’s about the Edinburg business. The inside information you got…”  
Crowley stops listening after that, while he makes a mental list of what he still needs to figure out for the wedding. He’s got 4 more months to convince Aziraphale not to marry, but the truth is that he’s not sure what else he can do. She closes up whenever he brings up the topic and somehow he’s reluctant to get her angry at him once more. Still…  
“Crowley, are you listening to me?”  
“Of course, boss”  
Of course not. He’s got more pressing matters to attend.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Really Crowley? Flowers?”  
He looks up from the computer and stares at Scarlett, peaking at his computer, her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her lips. He frowns; he didn’t hear her approaching but then again, Scarlett is one of Hell’s best Field Agents. While Crowley is technically an spy and therefore more suited for inside jobs, sneaking around and (sadly) paperwork, Scarlett is a master of unexpected attacks: deadly and silent.  
“What do you want, Scarlett?”  
She shrugs “Hastur wanted to let you know Heaven’s postponed your next meeting till January. Apparently, your contact is going on an early honeymoon”  
Crowley’s jaw almost hits the floor. How is that he wasn’t notified about this? Aziraphale has his number, why didn’t she call? And then he scowls at himself, because, really, she has absolutely no obligation to inform him of her every move “Right. Maybe then I take a short holiday too”  
Scarlett is frowning lightly and Crowley wonders if he’s being too transparent. The answer is yes, he’s being crystal clear, so he schools his features into the perfect picture of indifference and turns his attention back to what he was doing. Only that he was looking at flowers arrangements for the wedding and…  
God, he’s pathetic.  
“Are you alright?” Scarlett asks and he nods forcibly. She rolls her eyes dramatically and proceeds to perch herself on his armrest, strolling down the internet page he’s looking at.  
“What are you doing?” he asks.  
“Helping you” she informs him, while she looks at flower arrangements “I can’t stand your moping anymore”  
“I’m…”  
“You might want to buy her another thing, though. I mean, girls love chocolates and flowers, but Christmas presents must involve jewelry. Here. I’ve ordered the perfect arrangement for you” she stands up, while Crowley continues to stare flabbergasted at her “You’re welcome. Now, please, get back to work before Hastur or Ligur catches you being all mopey”  
He watches her go, still unable to wrap his mind around what has just happened. Finally, he lets out a shaky laugh, thanking every deity he knows for Scarlett’s little attention to details. She failed to notice just what exactly he was looking at and just believed he was looking for a Christmas gift for his “mysterious girl”. He rolls his eyes. Who gives flowers for Christmas, anyway? For Valentine’s Day, sure, but Christmas? That would be odd.  
Then he stares at the arrangement Scarlett chose and wonders who taught her about flower’s meaning.  
Because the one she chose is too damn accurate.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“So, were you planning on letting me known about your impromptu honeymoon?”  
“What are you talking about? And I’m busy, you know. Just because you now have my mobile phone’s number doesn’t mean you can call me whenever you feel like it” Aziraphale sounds tense and tired and he can’t quite blame her, seeing it’s almost midnight. Then again, when else was he supposed to call?   
“The reason you canceled on our next meeting?”  
“I didn’t… oh. Oh, bugger” he can practically see her rolling her eyes and Crowley can’t help to smile softly “I didn’t cancel. They told me you did. I’m guessing James’ did it in my account” she sighs “well, all for the better, I supposed. At least it would give us a chance for some short holidays”  
“Are you going anywhere?”  
“I always spend Chritmas’ Eve with the Archangels but… I’m free on New Year’s”  
“What about your fiancé?”  
Aziraphale scoffs “Busy. You’ll be surprise at the amount of work he has at this point of the year”  
Well, he can’t say he’s sorry to hear that.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________  
On December 16th, a week before his vacations officially start, he leaves the office somewhere close to 8 o’clock and his head is aching. He’s spent most of the day planning stuff for the wedding and he might be a little behind in his actual work, but he’s not particularly worried; with the holidays so close, there’s very little to do. Still, he supposes he needs to focus.  
As he walks down the street, having decided to go for a coffee before heading back home, he looks around, distracting himself with the cheerful decorations hanging on every store. He wonders if Aziraphale decorates her bookstore and wonders if he could pay her a visit. He doesn’t think it would be a very good idea, but still…  
He decides he’ll take a cab to SoHo later in the evening and try to sneak into his counterpart apartment. He’s hoping she’ll be alone, because he rather fancies spending the night in her company (even if she has already promised to spend New Years’ Eve with him). The thought brings a smile to his face and before he knows it, he’s almost skipping his way towards the coffee shop.  
“My, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself” a woman’s voice interrupts his musings and forces him to stop, turning to face his interlocutor “Anthony J. Crowley is in love”  
“Sister” he nods politely at the blond woman standing right in front of him. He keeps a calm exterior, but inside he’s panicking. If his sister finds out exactly all that’s going on…  
“Don’t fret, brother dear” she says almost amicably, taking his arm and continuing to stroll leisure down the street “Such gossips, those coworkers of yours” she tsks “Couldn’t believe it at first, but now that I actually see you… who’s the lucky lady?”  
She doesn’t know. Dear Lord, she doesn’t know yet. He wills himself to calm down, thinking he can handle this. As long as she doesn’t figure out he’s madly in love with his “enemy”, everything will be fine “My personal life doesn’t concern you”  
Her smirk is as dangerous as it’s beautiful. She doesn’t push for an answer, but Crowley knows there’s no need. When she actually wants to know, she’ll find out. There’s no way he can hide anything from her. But it doesn’t matter. As long as he behaves as she expects him to, she’ll let him be.  
And the day he doesn’t…  
“Take care, baby brother” she whispers, once they’re standing in front of the coffee shop “And remember. I’m always watching”  
It’s like she vanishes in thin air and it makes a cold shiver run down his spine. All his previous happy thoughts are long gone and what’s left is a terrible sense of dread. Now they’re damned and he curses himself for not stepping away when he should. He should let Aziraphale marry the Metatron. She’ll be safe that way.  
And then he remembers every little detail that he finds so fetching about her and his resolve crumbles. He’s a selfish bastard and he knows it. He hates himself a little for it too.  
But none of that really matters. He loves her and she shall be his, even if it kills them.  
When he looks back, trying to pin point the exact moment when he signed Aziraphale’s death warrant, he’ll remember this moment and regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm… as always, this sounded better in my head. Especially the last part. This chapter was tricky to write; I wasn’t expecting Crowley’s sister to make an appearance so early in the story, but I really had nothing planned for this chapter. And now that I’m writing chapter 21, seems that I’ll have trouble with chapter 22 because I didn’t have anything planned for it either. I mean, I have Aziraphale’s story line more or less already sketched, but Crowley’s… My plans for him are a little more focused by the end of the fic… (am I making any sense here?) Anyway, any opinions, thoughts, prompts and suggestions are highly welcome. Feel free to leave me a comment in the fic or look for me in Tumblr, ylc1.  
> Thanks for reading!


	21. Dangers of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale never really planned on loving someone ever again. Love can be quite deadly and she's in no rush to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might change the story’s rating to M. I’ll try not to get to descriptive on any violence and/or sex scene, but some chapters just write themselves…  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

She aches everywhere. She’s having trouble breathing, but she’s not sure if that’s because of all the smoke she has inhaled or if her lungs have been damaged. Considering the state she’s in, it’s probably a combination of both.  
It’s too hot in here. Hellishly hot. She feels like laughing at the ridiculousness of her own thoughts, but all that comes out is a painful cough. Her head is spinning, both from pain and lack of oxygen. It’ll be over soon, or at least she hopes so, because this is just too much. She supposes she’ll pass out before the flames start licking her skin and she’s glad; burning to death sounds too horrid for her tastes (not that dying sounds particularly appealing at all).  
Survival instinct kicks in a while latter, when the fire reaches her. In her weakened state she can barely move, but she manages to roll around and tries to stand up. It’s too much of an effort since she can barely stay conscious now, but she manages to stand on shaky legs. Adrenalin fueling her movements, she takes two steps before she collapses once more. She thought she was in pain before; this just proves it can (and will) get worse.  
That’s when she starts panicking. She knows her panic is not really helping her situation and it’s making her lungs hurt even worse, but she can’t do anything about it. Her breath starts coming in short gasps, her vision gets blurry and she feels tears pricking her eyes, but none of that really matters, does it? She’s about to die and…  
The last wave of panic (of sheer terror) sends her spiraling to consciousness. She wakes up, her breath raggedy, her whole body shaking and cold sweat covering her. She feels someone rubbing her back soothingly, but it’s little help in her distressed state. Soft reassurances whispered against her ear don’t help much either, so she pulls away from whoever is holding her and starts pacing, breathing deep and willing her mind to clear.  
She knows it was only a dream (well, a memory) but she can’t quite convince her body she’s not dying. Pacing helps a little; as she forces her body to move, her brain starts accepting that she’s not hurting (physically) and that makes breathing easier. Finally she calms down enough to take notice of her surroundings and when she sees her fiancé’s frown, she braces herself for the discussion she knows it’s coming.  
Only it doesn’t. Instead of confronting her about her nightmare, James stands up and heads towards the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale to finish calming down. She frowns at his silence, wondering if he’s waiting for her to be a little more relaxed before he picks up a fight with her. Sounds plausible.  
Sighing, she follows him. James is making tea, his back turned at her. She stands at the threshold, watching him in silence and waiting for him to make the first move “Drink” he orders once the tea is ready, placing the mug over the table with more force than strictly necessary.  
She obeys, taking a seat. They stay quiet for a while, both now sipping their drinks from their respective mugs “Thank you” she whispers, tired of the silence and wishing to get this over with.  
“You haven’t dreamed of that night in ages” he tells her, as if she didn’t know. She glares, but relents when he doesn’t continue. He looks tired and a bit defeated and Aziraphale is not quite sure what to do now “I just…” he whispers, running a hand through his hair “I’m trying my best, you know? I’m trying to take care of you”  
She nods. She knows; doesn’t mean she’s happy about it “I didn’t ask you to. And I don’t need you to”  
“No. But I feel responsible for you” he stares at her for a long while “I almost failed you that night”  
She huffs “What I tried was suicidal. My mistakes almost cost me my life, but it was in no way your fault. You didn’t even know…”  
“I should have been there for you” he argues “I won’t make the same mistake twice”  
Aziraphale wonders why he thinks it’s the same situation “I’m not 18 anymore”  
“No. You’re just as foolish as you were back then”  
This irks her, making her stand up and exit the kitchen “Aziraphale!” he calls her back, but she refuses to listen. She gets into his study and closes the door behind her, slamming it. He listens to James coming closer and he stands outside. She knows that if he wants, he’ll just walk in. This is his home after all and she’s not really in the mood to put up on a fight. Still, she hopes he’ll let her be.  
After a few minutes, she listens to her fiancé’s steps heading back towards the bedroom and she leans her head against the door. Once more her body is shaking and she feels like going back to bed and get some sleep but she just can’t lie next to him and pretend nothing happened. In a way, she guesses he’s right. She knows she’s being foolish, letting her feelings towards Crowley cloud her judgment. He’s the enemy and she should take some distance. She knows what his kind is capable of doing, regardless of what they may or not feel.  
Only… Crowley is not really like that, is he? He wouldn’t… he won’t hurt her. He won’t actively try to hurt her and that’s good enough for her. In their line of work, it’s nearly impossible not to hurt the ones you care about unintentionally. There’s always the chance they’ll become collateral damage.  
She hugs herself, tears now streaming down her cheeks. There’s a lot she doesn’t remember about that night, but she recalls the pain, the anger and the fear, but most of all, she remembers the bitter taste of the betrayal. Because those people were supposed to care for her, protect her and they always claimed to love her and yet…  
Love has little to do with anything; that she learned on that fateful night. She sometimes wished her mother hadn’t missed that shot, because it would have saved her from a lot of pain. She still doesn’t understand why she did it. It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t love. She doesn’t know what it was.  
She sighs.   
Does she love Crowley? In a way, she supposes. It’s complicated, mostly because she hasn’t allowed herself to see how deep her feelings for her counterpart run. She hasn’t loved someone in a long time. She likes people. She cares for people. But she hasn’t loved anyone since…  
Since her mother.  
James is right, as always (damn him!) She loves Crowley and is refusing to see just how bad things will end up for her when it’s all over. And she imagines it will be even worse, because she doesn’t only love him, she’s falling in love with him and that’s even a worse recipe for disaster.   
With a sigh, she leaves the study and heads back to the bedroom “It’s one thing to know I don’t love you and still marry me, and it’s an entirely different one to know there’s someone I do love and still marry me”  
James looks up from the book he’s reading, one eyebrow arched “Ah, so you’ve come to terms with your situation” Aziraphale just continues staring at him appraisingly, wondering why he’s doing this “as I said, I won’t fail you. We never really loved each other, Aziraphale, but we’re friends. You’d do the same for me”  
Would she? “Marrying won’t stop me from feeling the way I do”  
“No. But it’ll stop you from acting on it. It’ll ease the blow, I think”  
Maybe. Maybe it’ll make it worse “So you’ve resigned yourself to a loveless marriage for the sake of… what?”  
He lets out an amused huff “Aziraphale dear, marrying you is hardly a trial. You’re talented and resourceful, I’ve got no doubt this marriage will benefit me in the long run” he stands up, coming closer to her “you’re quite lovely and I do enjoy your company” he kisses the side of her neck and she finds herself tilting her head to give him better access “And I did promise I would never let you make the same mistake. I’m a man of my word”  
She’s still not convinced that he has a very good argument, but she decides not fight it. Maybe he’s right; once married, eventually, her feelings for Crowley will subsided, if only because there’ll be no way of pursuing them. He might step back a little. Of course, ever since he found out she was getting married, they’ve become closer, so maybe her logic is not quite sound…  
Then again, she knows herself. She won’t cheat on her fiancé, even less on her husband. So yeah, maybe with time, Crowley and her will put some distance between them, if only to ease the ache of not being able to actually be together. However…  
“My head is aching”  
He laughs at that “Let’s get back to bed then”  
Yes. That’s a fine idea.   
______________________________________________________________________________________  
“So, were you planning on letting me known about your impromptu honeymoon?”  
Aziraphale almost drops the phone after that “What are you talking about?” she asks, a little more brusquely than she intended “And I’m busy, you know. Just because you now have my mobile phone’s number doesn’t mean you can call me whenever you feel like it” she’s tired and irritable, both because she has lots of work to do (she always does this time of the year, hundreds of reports to file)and also because she hasn’t been sleeping that well.  
“The reason you canceled on our next meeting?”  
She still has no idea what he’s talking about. She didn’t cancel “I didn’t… oh. Oh, bugger” damn James, always meddling in her business. Is it not enough that he’s tying a proverbial leash around her neck? “I didn’t cancel. They told me you did. I’m guessing James’ did it in my account” she sighs “well, all for the better, I supposed. At least it would give us a chance for some short holidays”  
“Are you going anywhere?”  
And here’s when she’s supposed to start taking distance. After last night revelations, why does she torture herself like this? Now she knows she loves him. And she still knows this won’t head anywhere. She won’t break her engagement (her secrets are still too precious and besides, love is such a silly reason to throw away safety) “I always spend Christmas’ Eve with the Archangels but… I’m free on New Year’s”  
“What about your fiancé?”  
Aziraphale scoffs; doesn’t he know who her fiancé is? Of course he’ll be otherwise engaged “Busy. You’ll be surprised at the amount of work he has at this point of the year”  
She can practically hear Crowley’s grin. She closes her eyes, picturing his perfect smile and cursing her own foolishness.  
She’s so screwed.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________  
On December 16th, a week before her vacations start, she’s standing in front of two unnamed tombs in London’s Highgate Cemetery. She caresses on of the tombs, her eyes getting slightly misty “You’re not even really dead, are you mother?” she asks softly “Eleven years ago, you’ve taught me the most important lesson of my life. And then I meet a pretty boy and I throw caution at the wind” she lets out a self-depreciatory chuckle “You’ll be disappointed”  
She stands there for a little longer, taking deep, calming breaths “Then again, I’ve been a constant disappointment, haven’t I?” silence answers her. Not that she expected any different “I’ll be smart this time, mom. I really don’t fancy another loved one attempting to kill me”  
Crowley wouldn’t.  
Then again, she never thought her mother would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh… Once more, I’m not sure about this chapter. As always, it didn’t go the way I planned it. And I’m not sure if it makes sense for you, dear readers, since I do know Aziraphale’s backstory here, but I’m only giving you small glimpses and I’m not sure if I’m making it understandable enough.  
> Thoughts, anyone?


	22. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s another chapter! A very special thanks to Emily (YourLocalIgor here in AO3) for proof reading this for me! I’m sure this will be more understandable with her help!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

Crowley walks into Aziraphale’s apartment on the night of December 16th,looking pale and feeling at odds. There’s so much in his mind that he fails to remember that he shouldn’t be doing this. He barges into the apartment as if he owns it, not caring for a second if someone else is there. When he realizes his mistake, he’ll feel like an idiot, but right now he’s got bigger worries that Aziraphale’s fiancé.  
The flat is empty, though; so is the bookstore, when he goes down to check on it. It’s late, so he wonders where Aziraphale can be. He supposes she might be at her fiancé’s apartment, and the idea ignites a spark of jealously in him that he knows he’s not really entitled to feel. Aziraphale’s not his and she’ll probably never be. Still…  
Sighing, he resigns himself to a night by himself. He really doesn’t feel like going back to his apartment now, so he figures he’ll spend the night at Aziraphale’s old couch (sleeping on the bed without her just doesn’t feel right). However, since he’s still reeling from his encounter with his sister, he thinks that he might as well try to drink himself to oblivion.  
It sounds like a good idea and although he does worry a little that Aziraphale will be mad at him for drinking her wine, he also supposes he can always buy her more. With that thought in mind, he heads towards the wine cabinet in the backstore, finds himself a bottle of red wine and proceeds with his plan.  
A couple of hours (and almost a full bottle) later, the front door opens, startling him. He’s pleasantly drunk and his movements are a little sluggish, but he has enough sense to remember he shouldn’t be there at all and tries to hide.  
He’s not quite successful, or at least he doesn’t think so, seeing as half of his body is still sprawled over the couch when Aziraphale walks into the backstore. She’s wearing a surprisingly stylish black coat, along with a black scarf and matching gloves. She arches an eyebrow at him, a half-indulgent smile on her lips “Crowley?”  
“Ah… hi angel” he says, trying to sit back straight. Now that he knows his counterpart is on her own, he can’t help but smile, all his previous dark thoughts forgotten. Aziraphale sighs while she takes off her coat, dropping it over a chair.  
“You’ve been drinking my wine” she accuses him gently,taking the mostly empty bottle from him “Why?”  
“I had a very eventful evening.”  
She frowns at that, helping him to sit up and taking a seat next to him on the couch “And you came here because…?”  
That’s a great question, isn’t it? Because he has no valid reason to be here, except from the fact that he wanted to see Aziraphale. Her presence comforts him and isn’t that ridiculous? She’s his enemy, how can he find her company so reassuring? “I… I’m not sure”  
She stares at him for a while, her gaze troubled. Crowley wonders what’s going through that brain of hers, but quickly dismisses the thought. He shouldn’t try to look too deep into Aziraphale’s expressions. It’s pointless; if she wants to share what she’s thinking that’s fine and if not…  
Well, it doesn’t matter.  
She runs a hand through his hair and he basically purrs. Well, actually, he hisses softly, but either way it’s a quite undignified sound! Still, he’s quite drunk, so it doesn’t bother him much.  
“Come on, my dear. Let’s get you into bed.” Those words are so taunting,  
“Yeah, let’s” he whispers, standing on shaky legs and leaning heavily against his companion while they climb up the stairs. Once in the bedroom, Aziraphale proceeds to take off his clothes, with precise and short movements that hold no desire and that make Crowley feel a little self-conscious. Still, in his current state he is not fit to take such matters into his own hands.  
She eases him into the bed and he lets out a content sigh as his head hits the pillow. He’s tired and sleepy and he missed this,  
“Stay?” he asks, clinging to her sleeve when she tries to step away.  
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Aziraphale tells him gently, running a finger across his jaw, “just let me change into my pajamas.” He nods absent-mindedly, too far gone to actually register the words. Aziraphale smiles at him and then heads towards the bathroom to change. It’s silly, really, because he has seen her mostly naked, but he doesn’t question her.  
He closes his eyes, feeling at ease; breathing in his surroundings, a feeling of warmth spreads across his limbs. This feels so right, he can’t help thinking that this is how it’s supposed to be. This is how he wants to spend the rest of his life.  
With that thought in mind, he drifts off.  
______________________________________________________________________________________  
Crowley wakes up in the middle of night and finds the other side of the bed empty and cold. He frowns, wondering if everything was a wine-induced hallucination; but it can’t have been. If his subconscious was playing tricks on him, things wouldn’t have ended with Aziraphale tucking him into bed and leaving to put some pajamas on. It’s far too innocent for his usual wine-conjured fantasies.  
Then again, he knows lust has little to do with his current feelings for Aziraphale. Maybe he’s hallucinating mundane things because he wants that. All those small, seemingly unimportant moments; those small domestic gestures that show affection.  
Damn, he’s pathetic.   
But no. There’s a pile of neatly folded clothes on the chair next to bed that definitely don’t belong to him. However, if Aziraphale was, in fact, here… where is she now?  
He stands up; worry quickly overtaking his sleepy mind. He searches the entire apartment, without luck. He considers the idea that Aziraphale maybe didn’t plan on spending the night at her flat and had just come in quickly for some clothes, but since she found him there – far too drunk for his own good – decided to put him to bed, make sure he fell sleep and left, planning to return the next morning.  
It sounds logical, but somehow he knows that’s not what happened.  
He heads downstairs and proceeds to search in the bookstore. The place is creepy this late at night and it has serious lighting issues that Crowley will be sure to discuss with Aziraphale once he finds her. Yet, his meticulous search is fruitless and he’s growing more concerned with each minute that passes.  
After a while, he forces himself to stop looking and try to calm his frenetically beating heart. She’s fine, surely. There’s no way that something happened. He curses himself, punching the wall. He knew it was a bad idea coming here tonight, especially after the encounter with his sister. Did she have him followed? Has someone kidnapped Aziraphale? Surely he would have been woken up by the commotion, because she would have put on a fight, right? Right?!  
He hears a door opening and Aziraphale’s head peaks through a small opening in the wall “Crowley? What’s wrong my dear?” the amount of relief he feels at finally finding his counterpart, is indescribable. He pulls her out of her hideout, gathers her in his arms and hugs her tightly.   
Aziraphale pats his back awkwardly, obviously surprised by his reaction “I thought… You were… Where were you?!” he finally manages to ask, pulling away a little, reluctant to let her go completely.  
“Oh” Aziraphale blushes furiously and gestures to her hiding place “I… well, the thing is… umm… I was reading” He just arches an eyebrow and she reddens some more “I tend to get lost in my reading so… it’s wiser if I do it somewhere I won’t be found”  
He nods. It makes perfect sense, he supposes, even if he thinks it’s a little overly paranoid of her “I was here” he argues “surely you trust me enough to protect you if something happened? Or at least break you out of your book-induced trance?”  
Aziraphale observes him for a long while “I do trust you, Crowley” she whispers, her voice deadly serious “that’s exactly the problem.”  
He doesn’t understand what she means, but she suddenly looks too anguished for him to continue questioning her, so he lets it go, “Alright. Let’s get back to bed?”  
Aziraphale eyes her book and then glances at the stairs despairingly “Yes. I suppose I need to get some sleep.”  
He watches as she places her bookmark on the page she was on and then takes it from her. Aziraphale looks about to protest, but lets him observe the picture she’s using as bookmark.  
It’s an old photograph of a young girl and her mother. The woman has long dark hair, big hazel eyes and a dashing smile. The child is blond and curly with bright blue eyes. Even at a quick glance, he can tell he’s looking at a very young Aziraphale.  
He arches an eyebrow, questioningly. Aziraphale bits her lip, running a hand through her messy hair “That’s my mother” she tells him, although he had figured out as much. However, Aziraphale’s tense stance and wary look are puzzling, “I… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. On my impending marriage and stuff.”  
Her response doesn’t answer a single question and instead poses a whole new set of them. Crowley frowns and glances back at the picture. He’s pretty certain he has seen this woman before; but where? He gets the feeling it’s important but for the life of him, he can’t recall the information. He wishes he wasn’t starting to feel the effects of his night of drinking; but now that the worry is draining out of his system, he’s beginning to feel nauseous and tired.  
“Come on,” Aziraphale urges him, taking the photo back and placing it in the book, “we both need some sleep.”  
They get back to the bedroom and lay down. Crowley can tell Aziraphale is worried about something, but is not quite willing to share with him her thoughts. Sighing, he drapes his arms around her waist and nuzzles her neck “Goodnight, Angel.”  
“Goodnight, my dear.”  
Well, whatever the problem, it can certainly wait until tomorrow.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
There’s a note for him on the nightstand next morning. Apparently, Aziraphale had to leave early for a meeting, but she left coffee and a sandwich for him in the kitchen. It’s just so damn sweet and domestic that makes Crowley want to cry.  
He doesn’t, though. He’s not that pathetic (yet).  
He eats his meager breakfast and heads towards his own apartment, for a quick shower and a change of clothes. He’s now nursing a hangover, but it’s not as bad as he thought it would be.  
Once he’s driving towards work, an idea occurs to him. He thinks he knows where has he seen Aziraphale’s mother before;but it can’t be. It’s just not possible.  
He speeds up, mindless of the traffic regulations. He enters Hell and hurries downstairs, towards the Files Department. Luckily for him, Dagon has already gone on vacations and in his place is a fresh faced intern that he quickly smooth talks into letting him take a look into the archives.   
Hell has a very strict politic about not letting anyone stick their noses into their files. You had to have a very good reason to ask for a certain file and even then, Dagon enjoyed making it as difficult as possible to find something down there.  
Once upon a time, however, Crowley worked in the File Department and he still knows his way around. He finds what he is looking for a few minutes later and starts skimming through the document, until he finds the picture.  
A beautiful woman stares back at him. Her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail and her hazel eyes glare directly at the camera. She isn’t smiling and although she’s very attractive, that’s not the most remarkable thing about her; somehow, even though it’s just a photo, you can sense how dangerous she is. Scarlett has nothing on this woman.  
Evelyn White, the caption reads. Over the picture, in red ink, someone has written the word “deceased”  
“Damn” he whispers darkly. It is one thing to be desperately in love with an enemy agent and quite another to be in love with Evelyn White’s supposedly long dead daughter.  
He’s SO screwed.  
There’s no file on Aziraphale White. There’s not even a mention of that being her name. Evelyn’s file states that she was married and had a daughter, but there are no more records on her child. No photos, no dates, no nothing. Maybe Aziraphale is right and someone made one Hell of a job erasing her existence from the books. Maybe everything will be alright after all. No one needs to know and everything can continue the way it was.  
He’ll lock this knowledge in a deep corner of his mind, get rid of this file and pretend nothing of this ever happened.  
Yes, sounds like a plan.  
A very good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think ? I really wasn’t going to share this much of the characters’ past this early on the story (I know it’s chapter 22, but I’m planning for a very long fic. Apparently. It’s going to cover 10 years approx., even if I plan on skipping 5… but I’m not saying anything else!)  
> Anyway, comments? Thanks for reading!


	23. Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new chapter!! Once more, a very special thanks to Emily (YourLocalIgor in AO3) for her corrections!  
> Good Omens and all characters related are property of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”  
Her fiancé huffs “No, I’ve already told you Aziraphale: I’m fine. Besides, I’m supposed to work on this on my own.”  
Aziraphale rolls her eyes. She has always believed that Heaven’s rule about every Head of Division working on their own for their final annual report is just silly. She understands the need for secrecy, but it’s ridiculous “Right. Still, if you…”  
“Besides, you’ve been on vacations for the last 2 days; so technically, you shouldn’t be here at all. Stop playing the dotting fiancée, it doesn’t suit you. Now go home, relax and enjoy your holidays.”  
She sighs. She’s really not looking forward to start her vacations, if only because it means she’ll have enough spare time to think about things she’d rather not. Her work gives her a chance to forget about her very real problems, but now…  
“Alright. Call me if you need anything.”  
“I will,” he leans in and kisses her very softly, “have fun.”  
She huffs.  
Not going to happen.  
________________________________________________________________________________________  
Usually, Christmas’ dinner at the Archangel’s in an uneventful affair. Of course, the food is normally delicious, there’s a lot of wine and all the guests end the evening in various degrees of inebriation, but nothing of great significance ever happens.   
She doesn’t expect this year to be any different, but if the amount of wine bottles lined up on the table is any indication, things will probably be.  
“Why is there so much wine?” she asks Gabriel, the only one who’s currently sitting at the table, busying himself with something on his phone.  
“Michel got dumped” he responds, shrugging.  
“Michel was dating?”  
Gabriel rolls his eyes “He went on two dates. You know how he is.”  
Aziraphale nods very seriously “So, we’re up for a night of a drunk Michel complaining about how he’s going to die all by himself?”  
“Yep”  
“Wonderful”  
“Zira!” The kitchen’s door opens, revealing a brunette girl, smiling widely at her, “You’re early! Help us with dinner?”  
“Good idea, Rach,” Gabriel says, not looking up from his phone, “she could probably use some cooking lessons now that she’s about to become a housewife.”  
Aziraphale glares, “I hate cooking.”  
“You hate anything remotely domestic,” Raphael points out, suddenly appearing, “but I’m pretty sure we all heard your future mother-in-law going on about how much you need to be a proper housewife.”  
“I…”  
“Zira, you’re here!” Michel shows up now, throwing his arms around her, “Good, now we can open the wine.” Although she’s thankful for being saved from some cooking lessons, she can’t help to cringe a little at the thought of a drunk Michel.  
“I don’t think…” begins Rachel, with a frown, but Michel dismisses her with a wave of his hand. The girl huffs but retreats to the kitchen, presumably to finish dinner with Uriel’s help. Meanwhile, Aziraphale lets her boss drag her towards the living room and pour her a glass of wine.  
“Gabriel says you got dumped.”  
“I’m too sober for this conversation,” he informs her, pouring himself some wine “let me finish at least this glass and then we’ll talk.”  
Aziraphale nods and takes a small sip.  
Well, she can’t say it will be a boring night.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
“I’m gonna die all alone, Zira.”  
Four glasses of wine later, Michel is sprawled on the couch next to her, his head on her lap and staring at the ceiling despairingly. Aziraphale hums softly, running her fingers through his hair,   
“You’re being overdramatic, Michel”  
“No, no,” he argues vehemently, “I mean, Uriel and Rach are tying the knot any day now…”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. Apparently they found very inspiring that you and the Metatron are finally marrying, so…”  
She huffs. Right, because their impeding marriage is such a happy union,  
“Listen Michel…”  
“Gabriel is seeing some girl from accounting. You knew that?”  
“No, but…”  
“They’ve been dating for three months. Three months, Zira! You know how long my longest relationship lasted?”  
“Three dates?”  
“Yes!” Michel pours himself another glass of wine, splashing some on the couch “Three dates. Raphael was married for six years, you’ve been engaged for seven, Uriel and Rachel have been dating for four and now Gabriel…”  
“Hush, hush,” she whispers gently, massaging his scalp, “you just have to meet the right girl. Besides, I don’t think you should count me into this successful relationship business. James and I…”  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He finishes his glass in just one large gulp, “God, sometimes I wish I had some high school sweetheart I could marry”  
She rolls her eyes. This is coming from the man than a few weeks ago was trying to convince her not to marry for the wrong reasons; and he wonders why she doesn’t listen to him.   
“Maybe you should try to date someone from within our social circle. I mean, if you insist on dating girls who don’t work for Heaven…”  
“What about someone from Hell?” he says jokingly, but it hits a little too close home for Aziraphale’s comfort, so she doesn’t answer. Instead, she stares at the wall, once more thinking of the enemy that she desperately tries not to think off. What is Crowley doing tonight, anyway? Does he have someone to spend the holidays with? He has mentioned a sister, but she’s pretty certain they’re not even remotely close. Even if he was joking about her trying to kill him...  
“Are you alright?” Michel asks and she realizes she has been quiet for a while. Cursing inwardly, she turns her attention back to her “brother”.  
“Yes. I just… zooned out”  
“Am I boring you?” Aziraphale rolls her eyes at his whinny tone, but doesn’t comment on it,  
“Of course not, dear. I’ve just got too much on my mind right now.”  
Michel hums thoughtfully,  
“I’m sorry, Zira. I know you think I’m being overdramatic but I… I just wish I had someone to share my life with. I remember seeing Raphael with Anna and now I see Uriel and Rachel and I just… it feels like something is missing.”  
“You should also remember what happened when Anna died.” Aziraphale darkly, “Love will give you nothing but pain, Michel. However, if you insist on looking for it…”  
“Why must you be such a pessimist?” He asks, staring directly into her eyes, “Who hurt you, Aziraphale?”  
She stands up, unable to take the questioning. These last few days have been plagued by her dark thoughts and her even darker memories and she doesn’t wish to think about that right now. She walks out of the house, feeling tense and somewhat angry. Nobody understands because she refuses to explain. She won’t share her pain with anyone, so she insolates herself. Maybe that’s why she’s marrying; she just can’t stand being lonely anymore.  
James knows what happened to her. In his way, he cares about her and tries to help her. That’s enough. She doesn’t need love; it will only bring her pain.  
Still, every time she closes her eyes and pictures Crowley…  
Damn, why did her life become so complicated?  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Are you staying here all night?”  
Raphael’s words startle her out of her troubled thoughts. She’s been standing there for twenty minutes at least and now she’s freezing. Still, she’s not quite in the mood for dinner and she doesn’t want to ruin the happy atmosphere inside the house (even with Michel sulking); finally she sighs,  
“No. I’ll be with you guys in a minute.”  
He nods,  
“You’re right,” he comments, coming closer to her. Aziraphale arches her eyebrows, puzzled, “It’s been five years and yet not a day goes by without me missing Anna. But she gave the best eight years of my life so...” He shrugs, a sad smile playing on his lips, “In the end, I think it was worth it. Love is always worth the pain.”  
Aziraphale shakes her head, closing her eyes,  
“You don’t understand. Everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me.”  
Raphael hums, “If you keep pushing people away because you’re afraid they’ll betray you, you won’t ever know what it’s like loving someone… and being loved back.”  
Well, isn’t that an interesting approach?   
“You guys are such optimists.”  
He chuckles, “What can I say? It’s the only way to stay sane in this family.” She doesn’t answer; instead she locks arms with him and walks back into the house.  
After all, dinner seems to be ready.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
Dinner is, in fact, delicious. Uriel has always been an excellent cook, but ever since he met Rachel and she started helping to prepare the food, dinner is even better. Aziraphale, whose biggest culinary skill is making some killer tea, is quite impressed.  
However, it’s a quiet affair and it’s over soon. Gabriel has been frowning all the way through dinner, checking his phone, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when he announces he’s leaving right after dessert. Uriel and Rachel make their excuses and decide to turn in early. Michel complains about everyone being happy except him, so Raphael and Aziraphale decide to join him in a drinking contest. It doesn’t surprise her at all when she drinks both her brothers under the table.  
That leaves her on her own, sitting in the living room, Michel asleep with his head on her lap and Raphael leaning against her. It’s possibly the most uncomfortable way to fall sleep, but she doesn’t have the heart to wake them up so she can make her way to the guest room. Sighing, she resigns herself to spend the night like that.  
It’s not so bad, she supposes. It’s nice being with people that care for you, who think of you as family. The Archangels have been nothing but welcoming to her and she wishes she could reciprocate their trust and loyalty. Yet, she can’t. She carries too many secrets on her back and too much pain. There are things she won’t share with anyone.  
Except… well, the thing is, sometimes she thinks of sharing them with Crowley. Whenever she’s with him, she gets the urge to be honest and open. She doesn’t understand it, but that’s the way she feels. It’s unnerving, to say at least.  
She closes her eyes and wills her body to relax. She wishes she could understand why she feels the way she does about Crowley. It just feels so natural; so meant to be. But Aziraphale doesn’t believe in soul mates or any of that nonsense.  
Regardless, she knows there’s not really an explanation for her immediate attraction toward her counterpart. It’s physical, yes, but it runs deeper too. It’s like they’ve known each other since forever and now…  
Well, that does sounds like soul mates.  
“Bugger!” She whispers to herself, running her fingers through her hair.  
Look at her, thinking of soul mates.  
Her mother would be so disappointed.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________  
She wakes up to the smell of recently brewed coffee. It’s quite early, she can tell, but even if she’s an early riser, Raphael has always had her beat. She glances at Michel, still deeply asleep and she carefully slides away. She makes it to the kitchen in relative silence, only to find out that she and Raphael are not the only ones awake.  
Gabriel is sitting at the counter, typing furiously on his laptop, while James looks over his shoulder, nodding approvingly at whatever he’s writing.  
“How are you feeling?” Raphael asks, once she pours herself a cup of coffee. She takes a sip and makes a face, but continues drinking, hoping the caffeine will relieve her headache.  
“I’ve been better.”  
Raphael nods compassionately. Her fiancé spares at glance in her direction, but doesn’t say anything. She decides her presence is not either needed or welcome and decides to head upstairs to take a quick shower, but before she can leave, something catches her attention.  
On the kitchen’s table there’s a flower arrangement. There’s also a small box next to it and on top of the box, a note that reads Aziraphale.  
Crowley. Her heart clenches and she feels a little worried, because sending her gifts is not precisely a clever idea and still, she can’t help but smile. However, when she notices what exactly the flower arrangement is, she frowns.  
White violets.  
“Not exactly subtle, is he?” James asks, without looking up from whatever Gabriel is typing.  
Aziraphale is examining the contents of the box, so she doesn’t answer right away,  
“My uncle always said I was too dense,” she whispers, her fingers trailing the beautiful snake-shaped pendant resting inside the box, “that’s why my men needed to be as upfront as possible. Otherwise I would never take the hint.”  
Her eyes lock with her fiancé’s. From the corner of her eye, she catches her “brothers” watching her wonderingly, probably because she has never mentioned (not even in passing) her family before. However, her whole focus stays on James.  
The corners of his mouth twitch in a patronizing smile “Dense? Nah. Foolish, naïve, childish, maybe; but dense? Never.”  
Not dense. Just blinded by hope.  
She stares down at the pendant. Well, not anymore.  
Now she knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I explain what do the white violets mean? I think so; they mean “let’s take a chance on happiness”, so yeah, not exactly subtle.   
> I hope this is making sense to you my dear readers, if not, feel free to ask as many questions as needed!


	24. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years Eve and a whole new set of revelations and admisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a new chapter! Hope you enjoy, once more thanks to Emily (YourLocalIgor in AO3) for proof reading this for me !

“You shouldn’t have”

Those are the first words that Aziraphale speaks when Crowley walks through the front door of the bookstore. She doesn’t look up from the book she’s holding, although Crowley can tell she’s not really paying attention to what she’s reading

“You’ll need to be more specific, Angel,” he tells her, placing the bottle of champagne, that he brought with him, on the counter “you could fill up a book with all the things I shouldn’t have done. Especially since I met you.”

She finally looks up and fixes a glare on him. Crowley squirms a little, but still tries to give her his best innocent smile. He’s pretty sure she’s talking about his gift, however he’s willing to play dumb for a little while.

“You know what I meant,” she says darkly, coming to stand in front of him “I know we blurred the lines between us long ago, but this is too much, Crowley. If you can’t keep some sort of distance, we won’t be doing this anymore.”

He arches an eyebrow, aiming to look disinterested, even if he’s heart is beating frenetically, “Is that so?” he places a hand on her hip and pulls her close. Aziraphale doesn’t even try to resist “I don’t think you mean it, Zira.” He lets his lips ghost over her jaw, making her shiver,“I think we both know we can’t really stop.”

God knows they should, but they won’t. It’s pointless to deny it, they’re in too deep. Whether Aziraphale admits it to herself or not, doesn’t matter.

“However, if it eases your mind a little… I’ll step back.” He lets go of her and can’t help to smirk when she takes a step to come closer once more.

She glares at him when she notices what she has done and backs up. “I can’t, Crowley. What you want… I can’t give it to you”

“What do you know about what I want, Aziraphale?” he hisses, suddenly angry, “Don’t presume you know me well enough to read my mind. I’m not fool, angel, I know what I’m getting into.” Of course he knows. He’s in for a heartbreak from which he’ll never move on, but he also knows that the other possibility (not seeing Aziraphale anymore) is even worse.

“No, you don’t,” she argues, looking away, “you don’t understand…”

“Then explain.”

She stares at him, warily. After a while she just sighs, shakes her head and picks up the bottle of champagne,

“Let’s… start over, alright?” she asks, biting her lip, “How are your vacations so far?” she asks him with a slightly too cheerful to be honest smile.

Crowley rolls his eyes. He’s not really a fan of talking, especially not about feelings, but Aziraphale is even worse than him, “Fine, thank you. Yours?”

“Uneventful.”

They stand in silence for a while, “I bought dinner. Are you hungry?”

Crowley nods, “Yeah, I haven’t eaten since breakfast”

“Come on, then. I hope you like lasagna.” She turns around, heading towards the back store and the stairs, Crowley follows resignedly. It seems they’re going to pretend nothing happened. It’s probably for the best, but he still wishes they could talk about what’s going on here.

Although of course he’s not sure what he could say if they did talk about it.

* * *

 

“Who taught you about flower’s meanings?”

After finishing dinner, they went back downstairs, to the old couch on the back store. The dinner table seemed too uncomfortable for a night of drinking and the bed just seemed too… well, it would be too easy to forget themselves.

Crowley stares at his glass, considering his answer,

“My mother owned a flower shop,” he confesses, feeling a stab of pain at thinking of his life pre-Hell, “I didn’t pick the flower arrangement, though”

“Who did, then?”

“Scarlett” he shrugs, “she thinks I’m seeing a married woman and that I’m all mopey because she can’t really be mine.”

She nods, absentmindedly,

“Close enough to the truth, I suppose.” She frowns a little, “You’re being mopey?”

Once more, he shrugs,

“A little, I suppose.” He stares at her for a little, placing a hand on her shoulder, “You know how I feel, Aziraphale.”

She sighs, taking a large gulp from her glass, “It’s not that I don’t…”

“I know. I don’t quite understand, but I do know.”

They stay in silence, enjoying each other’s company for a few minutes “We should turn on the radio. The countdown is about to start.” Aziraphale suggests, glancing at the clock on the wall. Crowley nods, absentmindedly.

They listen to some holiday-themed song for a few minutes, both sipping from their respective glasses, lost in thought,

“My real name is Angela Aziraphale White.” She says it so quickly that Crowley barely understands her, “My mother was…”

“Evelyn White, aka Greed,” Crowley finishes for her, “one of the Seven Deadly.”

“You knew?”

He shrugs,

“I’ve just found out. After you showed me your mother’s photo… it’s been a while, but I used to work in the Files Department and on a slow day, sometimes I would pull out old archives, read them...”

Aziraphale pales significantly, so he rushes to reassure her, “There’s no mention of you, though. Nothing that could link you two together. Besides, Evelyn White’s file might have recently mysteriously disappeared.”

“Oh Crowley, you shouldn’t have…”

“Never mind that,” he argues, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand, “what does it have to do with anything?”

She stares at him for a while, considering her next words,

“Everything, I think. My mother was always so… warm towards me. My father was indifferent at best, violent at worst and my uncle was distant and always pushing me to be the best at everything. Looking back, I guess he was training me to carry on with their legacy”

It’s quite feasible. Louis Moore was one of Hell’s finest hitmen and recruits trainer. He doesn’t tell her that, though,

 “Anyway, my mother just… she wasn’t like them. She took care of me; she would read to me, play with me and talk to me like an equal, not like I was some dumb animal.” She closes her eyes, the memories still painful even after all this years. Crowley gives her shoulder what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze, “I never quite believed my father and uncle loved me, because they certainly didn’t treat me like they did, but my mother…” She takes a deep breath and he can see the moisture around the corners of her eyes, but she carries on with steady voice, “She shot me.” She pulls down her sweater’s neckline, showing him a small scar on her left shoulder, “She missed.”

Only of course, she didn’t. Evelyn White never missed a shot. It’s no consolation, though, because it doesn’t change the fact that she shot her own daughter,

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs,

“It’s hard to believe in love when your own mother tried to kill you. Or when she let your father and uncle beat you senseless. I just… I refuse to trust someone like that again.”

He nods, understandingly. After a couple of minutes, he decides it’s only fair to share something of his own.

“Well, if you want to talk about crappy family experiences, let me tell you about my sister.” He unbuttons his shirt and takes it partially off, to show her the scar just above his heart, “She stabbed me right here. I spent 3 weeks in the hospital, most of the time unconscious. I might have died, if my mother hadn’t contacted my father and he hadn’t sent the best doctors in the whole country to treat me.” He rubs the scar unconsciously; he doesn’t like telling this story, but he figures Aziraphale deserves it. A memory for a memory, “I was lucky she was 16 at the time and had barely begun her training, otherwise…” a vague movement of his hand and Aziraphale nods.

“I wasn’t sure whether you were kidding or not about her trying to kill you,” she whispers, letting her fingers ghost over the scar, “How old were you?”

“Twelve,” he shrugs, “my father was… well, let’s just say he wasn’t a nice man. When my mother found out who he really was, she ran away. She was pregnant, but my father never knew. However, when my sister saw me… apparently, this cheekbones are quite recognizable,” he laughs bitterly.

It’s odd, talking about this. It’s too personal,

“My father was an old-fashioned fellow. He would have preferred his heir to be male, even if I was younger than my sister and was born out of wedlock. I suppose my sister didn’t want to risk her inheritance, so she chose to get rid of me. She failed; my father got mad at her, so she tried to poison me, push me downstairs, drown me… and in the end, he agreed to not make me his heir, if my sister promised to stop trying to kill me,”

Too many murder attempts for a sixteen years old girl. It was more than proof enough that she would make a better heir than he, anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“I think I still turned out pretty okay, huh? I mean, sure, my family sucks, but I’m still here. And I’m still an optimist.”

_‘As opposed to you’,_ goes unsaid. Aziraphale doesn’t comment on it,

“Tell me about your mother”

He stares at her for a little while,

“She was really sweet. I look nothing like her, though my eyes come from her side of the family; apparently, it skips one generation.” He shrugs, “There’s not much to tell.”

That’s a lie. He could tell her thousands of things about her; he just doesn’t like talking about that. It still hurts too much thinking of the woman who gave up her life to save his. That’s the biggest difference in their tales, he supposes: his mother did everything she could to protect him, Aziraphale’s mother forsook her.

It’s one hell of a reason to not believe in love.

He can’t blame her for being such a cynic. He can’t begrudge her the reluctance to open herself up to him. They can’t take a chance on happiness, because she doesn’t believe such thing exist.

Life has been cruel to her.

_Ten, nine, eight._ The countdown starts and Aziraphale is staring at him right in the eye, suddenly much closer than he remembers her being. _Seven, six, five._ She slides even closer, cradling his face between her hands. _Four, three, two_. He closes her eyes, as he feels her warm breath over his lips. _One._

One quick press of lips.

She pulls back before his brain can quite register what has just happened. Aziraphale smiles softly at him when he looks at her questioningly,

“It’s said that if you kiss someone on the final second of the year, you’ll get to spend the next year with him.”

Crowley smiles sadly and rises his mostly empty glass of champagne, “Happy New Year, Angel.”

“Happy New Year, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what did you think? I’m pretty certain I didn’t plan to have so much background revealed this early in the fic… but I can’t remember what I had exactly planned… LOL  
> Thanks for reading. Comments, please?!


	25. Exceptions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale thinks of what has made her the way she's now and how Crowley manages to defy all her expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 25, finally!! Thanks to Emily, for betaing this. Despite having a lot of other things to do, she managed to help me check this chapter and basically rewrite most of it ;)

The Seven Deadly Sins were Hell’s most notorious (and deadly) agents. Of course, it’s widely rumored that they were nothing but a myth; a series of coincidental deaths, disappearances, political scandals and financial frauds that had been carefully manipulated to make Heaven think Hell was behind them.

Thanks to Angela A. White and James Good, Heaven knows better.

Evelyn White (Evelyn Moore before she married), was the wife of Markus White (Head of Hell’s Tech Division). She was commonly known, amongst the employees of Hell, as Greed; her specialties were corporate fraud and mysterious disappearances.  Louis Moore, aka Lust, specialized in what would appear to be “crimes of passion”.

Evelyn was methodical: when she took somebody out, there were no traces left; it was as if they vanished in thin air. Louis’ style was flashy: when he went after someone, he made a spectacle out of it.

But for all the care Hell took about not letting anyone know of their agents real identities, they made them file a lot of paperwork after each job. That was how a 16-years-old Aziraphale (Angela, back then) stumbled into the awful truth of whom her family was.

Her first finding was an awfully explicit collection of photographs of a dismembered body. She felt sicken by the images, but after finding such things, she couldn’t stop herself from digging deeper. What she found made her ill, but it also made her determined to stop it from happening again. Her sense of justice and what was right and wrong had always been strong.

She was careful, very much so. She collected all the evidence shecould at a very slow pace. She didn’t want anyone noticing documents going missing, so she took one page at a time and usually had to wait until late at night, when everyone was asleep, to sneak into her father’s study. It took her almost 2 years, but by the time she was ready to go to the university, she had almost finished.

She hadn’t told her boyfriend of what she was doing, even though she knew he might be able to help her. Hewas a trainee with Heavenafter all, but she also knew he’d get angry at her because she was doing this without any reward for her personal safety; her own life didn’t matter though. He would’ve understood if he had seen any of the pictures that her mother and uncle  had taken of their “jobs well done”.

She thought she had been careful enough, sneaky enough. Maybe she was; her mistake had been going back home after sending James all the evidence she had collected, not sparing a thought about how dangerous it might be.

Why she went home for holidays is something that, to this day, she can’t explain. Perhaps she was too cocky for her own sake. Maybe she thought herself too smart; she believed no one had figured out what was going on and by the time her mother and uncle discovered what she had done it would be too late. Or maybe she just never really considered the very real possibility that her family would kill her to keep their secret safe.

Things didn’t go as smoothly as she had hoped they would. Somehow, Hell had found out that the identity of two of their agents had been compromised and offered them a choice: find who told on them and “take care of it” or die before Heaven captures them.

It was an easy choice.

Itwas late at night, a couple of days before Christmas’ Eve, when Aziraphale woke up to the sound of her parents arguing. Evelyn seemed determined to do it (Aziraphale hadn’t yet known what “it” was) herself, Markus insisted that Louis be the one to do it. Louis agreed, because someone needed to teach the girl a lesson (“pointless, seeing she has to die” Evelyn had said) Her father had argued that Evelyn was being “too soft” and “letting her feelings get on the way”.

“We’re talking about our daughter, you know?”

Aziraphale didn’t need to hear anything else. If she ran, she might have made it to safety (James’ house is a couple of streets away) but knowing how sneaky her mother and uncle could be, it’ll also meant they’d probably get away and that was not acceptable.

If she was going down, so were they.

She steeled herself for what was to come and headed towards the garage. She was quiet, so very quiet. She had always been so good at planning ahead, so she made a plan B in case she was discovered early. Since her goal wasn’t surviving but making sure that some sort of justice was served, it was a quite suicidal plan.

There were enough bottles of gasoline stocked to start one hell of a fire. First, she went to her father’s study. poured the petrol all over the furniture; carefully and methodically, she advanced. By the time her mother found her, she had spilt gasoline over her father’s study, her bedroom, the master bedroom and she was making her way through her uncle’s bedroom.

They stared each other down. Until that very moment, Aziraphale hadn’t really believed her mother would hurt her. But then everything happened too quickly for her to keep track of her own actions let alone anyone else’s.

Evelyn pointed her gun at Azirapale just as her father walked into the room. Aziraphale  ran for the door connected to the bathroom. She was still carrying a can of gasoline with her and she kept spilling it as she went. She managed to exit the bathroom through the other door and started running downstairs before the bullet grazed her shoulder.

“How can you’ve missed, Evelyn?!” her father screamed, but she paid him no mind. Aziraphale was not in actual pain; the adrenalin coursing through her veins numbing the sting. She was feeling sick though, because…

Because her mother shot her. The woman she loved above all else had just shot her. She remembers hoping she wouldn’t survive, because she knew such a thing would haunt her for the rest of her life. It would poison her thoughts and kill her slowly.

Sadly, she did survive.

There are things you just don’t move on from. It broke Aziraphale’s heart that her mother was willing to sacrifice her only daughter to save her own life. It was not entirely unexpected, she supposes, human beings can be incredibly selfish but still… Hadn’t she been taught that youshould give up your life for the ones you love?

The fact that Evelyn had missed that first shot had puzzled Aziraphale for a long time, before she decided it didn’t matter. In the end, Evelyn had let her husband and brother hurt her daughter. She would have let them kill her too, if Aziraphale hadn’t managed to start the fire when she did. It was pure luck that saved her life on that fateful night.

She really shouldn’t be thinking about all that right now. It still makes her heart ache, so she’s always chosen to pretend it never happened. However, her conversation with Crowley made her take a walk down memory lane.

It is odd how quickly he has managed to make her open up to him. Nobody knows these things about her not even Michel. Despite the fact that they had grown very close and shared many secrets over the course of their friendship he was aware that Aziraphale’s life pre-Heaven was off limits.

~~C~~ rowley, however, had managed to make her fall in love with him in less than 12 “dates”, so maybe it’s not that surprising that he’s the one making her reconsider every single one of her life choices. For the first time in almost 11 years, she’s questioning where her life is heading.

But it’s pointless, really. For all her self-doubt, there’s really no turning back now. She will go on with this. It’s for the best, because she knows she can’t trust her feelings; she knows she should listen to her brain rather than to her heart.

She sighs. She feels more tired now than she felt last night. Her sleep has been restless; she probably would have spent the night tossing and turning if it wasn’t for the man who is currently wrapped so firmly around her, that it’s impossible to move an inch without waking him up.

It’s should be horrifying, this tight grip he has around her (both literally and figuratively), but it isn’t. If anything, it’s heart-warming. She isn’t a warm, affectionate person (another thing she could blame her family for) but when it comes to Crowley… He’s an exception.

She’s scared, yes, but there’s also something else. For the first time in a very long time, she can feel hope blossoming in her chest. It’s so stupid and dangerous and still, that’s the way she feels.

“Won’t you even _try_ to get some sleep?” Crowley whispers grudgingly against her neck, making goose bumps rise all over her body. She smiles, running a hand through his hair,

“I can’t.” She whispers and Crowley sighs, sitting up and trying to glare at her, although the effect is rather spoilt by his inability to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Do you want to…” He gestures vaguely; it’s obvious he’s at loss of what to say, “Is there anything I can do?” She frowns lightly,

“You could try to stop being so damn likable and considerate.” He smirks,

“Sorry; can’t do. It’s just who I am.”

“If you… if your sister hadn’t found you…” She racks her brain, trying to find the right way to phrase what she wants to ask, “do you sometimes wish you had stayed oblivious to the mess that is your family?”

He sighs and lays back once more, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Aziraphale feels a little guilty for making him think about this, but she justwants him to understand. Their experiences aren’t exactly the sameand yet, maybe he could understand her.

“Do you mean: do I wish I hadn’t been more or less forced to join Hell? If I could, would I change the past?” He stares at her with such intensity that she can’t help but gulp, “A year and a half ago, I would have say yes, without a doubt. Now? No. Otherwise I never would have met you.”

He’s such a romantic,

“How can you say that?” She spits out, angrily, “how can you even…?”

“Don’t you dare to tell me how should I feel, Aziraphale. My life has been pretty crappy since I was 12, but it led me to meet you and that’s something I can’t bring myself to regret. Regardless of how fucked up our current situation is; I wouldn’t change it for the world”

She considers it. If she hadn’t joined Heaven, she would now be married, with 2.5 children, a big house and a dog. She scrunches her nose in distaste. She can’t imagine her life like that anymore.

 “We’ll never actually be able to be together. You know that, right?”

He nods solemnly,

“Yes; but if I didn’t work for Hell and/or you didn’t work for Heaven, we wouldn’t even know the other existed.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

“What?”

“Not knowing what we’re missing.”

He smiles gently,

“I’ve always believed in the _better to have loved and lost, that never loved at all_ school of thought.”

She can’t honestly say she shares the sentiment,

“For an agent of Hell… you’re such an optimist.”

“For a Heavenly minion, you’re quite hopeless.”

Hope.

She never believed she would feel that again.

It just seems Crowley is determined to make her rethink all her previous convictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts? I’m worried I might be rushing things a bit and making everything too confusing. Emily pointed out a few details that I needed to clarify to make this more understandable, but if there’s anything you’re not getting, feel free to point them out!  
> Thanks for reading!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I don't have a title for this chapter. Sorry about that and for taking so long for the update. I seem to have misplaced the USB where I had saved this chapter with corrections...  
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy it!

On January 8th, the day that vacations were officially over, Crowley waltzes into Hell’s Headquarters, wearing the most self-satisfied smirk in the history of human-kind. It’s 6 o’clock in the morning; far too early for him to be awake, but he has spent the last week at Aziraphale’s, just enjoying each other’s company and being domestic and he’s in such a good mood that even having to arrive early at work can’t bring him down.

For the past week he has been so blissfully happy that he even overlooked the fact that they spent a lot of time planning the wedding. His days have been so joyous, that now they’re over (because they both have to get back to work and Aziraphale has to sort of move back to her fiancé’s apartment), he’s not sure how he can carry on.

Right now none of that matters, though. Right now all he knows is that Aziraphale cooked him breakfast and even made him some coffee to go.

The meeting room is empty and he can’t blame his colleges for arriving late. The first meeting of the year is not something anyone looks forward to, especially when Hastur starts blabbing about all the things they didn’t do last year and starts commanding them to think of ways  to improve.

Personally, Crowley can think of hundreds of things they could do, but he also knows his boss never listens. He’s too old-school to pay much attention to Crowley’s ground-breaking ideas. All for the best, he supposes; the world could be a very dark place if someone actually put some of his plans into motion.

He waits for a few minutes, taking small sips from his coffee, entertaining himself with some YouTube videos. He finally hears the door opening and he looks up, finding himself face-to-face with Hastur.

“Crowley?” He questions, obviously surprised by his early arrival. It’s understandable, really, given that Crowley doesn’t usually leave his bed until at least 9 o’clock.

But since he didn’t spend the night in his bed that was impossible,

“Morning boss.” he says, raising his cup in a mocking salute. Hastur frowns and so does Ligur, who has just walked into the “bizarre” scene.

“You’re up early.”

Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically,

“Well, you did say the meeting started at 6 sharp.”

They stare at him as if he had grown a second head and he can’t help but smirk a little. Nothing is as satisfactory as confusing his co-workers with his “odd” behavior.

“Alright everybody, let’s get this party started. I didn’t get out from bed… Crowley?!” Scarlett exclaims as she enters the room, as baffled as the other two. Crowley rolls his eyes once more,

“Yes. Can you three please stop acting so surprised so we can actually start this meeting? If I had known that arriving early would cause such a delay, I would have stayed in bed for a little longer.”

“Oh, I bet you’d have.” Scarlett says, recovering from the surprise quick enough. “What happened? Your girlfriend kicked you out of bed?”

Sort of. She had yelled at him that she was going to start breakfast and he’d better have taken a shower and be ready by the time she finished,

“That’s none of your business.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Hastur says, a malicious smile playing on his lips. “She’s not that pretty brunette we met is she?” Crowley scowls,

“As I said, it’s none of your business.”

“Ah, come on Crowley…”

“Can we concentrate?!” He exclaims, frustrated. “We’ve got work to do.” It’s his co-workers turn to roll their eyes,

“Really Crowley, you should know better than try to change the subject. We want to know everything about this girl. Not only has she managed to get you out of bed at this ungodly hour but she’s also making you smile like that.”

“Huh. Never pictured you as the caring type.” Crowley argued, scowling lightly.

“We aren’t.” Hastur deadpans, smirking.

“But we’re big gossips.” Scarlett adds, a huge smirk on her lips.

_Such gossips, those co-workers of yours._ He shudders at the memory. He’d rather not think about that, “Once again, I repeat, that’s none of your freaking business.”

Sensing they aren’t going to get anything else from him, they drop the subject. Everyone takes their usual places and the meeting begins, although Crowley pays it little mind. He’s got plenty to plan, just not work-related.

All for the best, really. The world doesn’t need Crowley getting any more involved in Hell’s business than he already is. 

* * *

At some point during the first month of the year, Crowley is seriously reconsidering his career-path. Maybe he should consider becoming an actual wedding planner. Sure, it’s stressful as hell, but he sincerely doubts that any  _bridezilla_ would be worse than his current boss. Besides, he does enjoy looking through all those glossy magazines promising the best choices for  _rings/dress/make up/whatever._

It’s very… cheerful.

He’s an optimist and a romantic at heart and he knows it. Regardless of how bad his life has turned out, he can’t help being one of those people who sees the glass as half-full. Which is the exact reason he is so determined to make Aziraphale stop being so pessimistic.

It’s a difficult task, but he’s willing to try.

However, he has to admit that after a whole day of skimming through wedding magazines, he’s feeling slightly depressed. It’s one thing to look at these things with Aziraphale at his side, making jokes and commenting on how she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those dresses or that hairstyle or so much makeup; it’s an entirely different one to look at the pictures and think of how she’ll look when she walks down to aisle, ready to marry a man that isn’t him.

He knew he was in for heartbreak and he really doesn’t regret having met her but it still hurts.

He closes the magazine he’s currently reading and sighs. He’s back at his apartment, with no company other than his plants. He stands up and paces around the place, willing himself to relax. His whole body is tense and he can feel the tears threating to fall at any moment. He won’t cry, though. There’s no point. He knew there was no future for them. Even if she wasn’t engaged, there’s really nothing there for him.

But as the date of the wedding draws closer, he starts getting more and more desperate. He’s hoping Aziraphale will have a change of heart in the last minute. Heck, he’s even considering showing up at the wedding and begging her not to get married. He also knows those are pointless thoughts; Aziraphale has made up her mind. She’ll go through with it even if she’s somewhat in love with him, because she believes it’s for the best.

_And remember. I’m always watching._

He shudders at the memory. Yes, it is probably be for the best. She’ll be safe that way; isn’t it more important that she’s safe than having her by his side? Yes. However, it’d be so much easier to be selfish.

If he could have her; he’d keep up with his work. He wouldn’t ever slack off again. He wouldn’t give his sister a reason to punish him. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt Aziraphale.

But in the end it doesn’t really matters what he does or doesn’t do. This was a damned love from the very beginning.

The sooner he understands that, the better.

**_I’m thinking of going ring shopping tomorrow. Thoughts?_** He texts Aziraphale as he stares blankly at the window. It’s been a tiring week, but if he can see Aziraphale tomorrow, he’ll be happy.

**_Sure. 9 o’clock?_ **

He stares at his phone for a couple of minutes. 9 o’clock means waking up early and he really hates that. However, for Aziraphale?

**_Of course._ **

He heads towards his bedroom, his steps lighter and a small smile playing on his lips. Their situation might seem hopeless most of the time, but whenever he’s with Aziraphale…

There’s always hope.         

* * *

The next morning, however, he realizes just how hopeless the situation is. He arrives to pick Aziraphale up and instead, ends up with Anathema on the passenger’s side, because as it turns out, “Capitan Engel was called in for an urgent meeting.”

He knows he has no right to feel angry. There are things beyond their control; a meeting with superiors is not something they get a say on. Still it is frustrating,

“So, how’s working for the famous Capitan Engel?” he asks Anathema, in an effort to lighten up the mood. It’s obvious she can feel the tension he emanates, but she has been quite civil regardless of his gruff greeting. The girl smiles,

“It’s great; I never really pictured myself working for Heaven and even less as a Field Agent but I went with a friend to one of the Recruitment Fairs and after listening to Capitan Engel’s speech… well, I was smitten. So I was quite excited to get the chance to work with her.”

He nods absent-mindedly; that’s new, he didn’t know Aziraphale was one of Heaven’s Recruitment Speakers, “Must be tiring for you.”

“Oh, yes, quite,” the young woman nods eagerly, “she does lots of things; they’re always asking for her input on many of Heaven’s biggest projects. Like today; she’s going on a meeting with the people from Manchester, even though Manchester is part of the North Garrison territory…”

Manchester? What is Heaven planning on bloody Manchester? Really, Anathema should know by now that she’s not supposed to speak about such things with people who are practically strangers. Then again, she thinks he’s just a wedding-planner.

“I see. How long have you’ve been an intern, Miss Device?”

“A year.” she informs him proudly, “I’ve got six more months to go by Capitan Engel’s orders and then I’m going into a Training Camp. That’s quite… exhausting, I’ve been told.”

More deadly that exhausting, from what Crowley has heard. He looks at Anathema and doesn’t think she’ll make it, however, he doesn’t comment,

“What does your boyfriend think?”

Anathema blushes furiously, “I haven’t really discussed it with Newt. He’s not… well, he believes field work is too dangerous.”

“Huh. Well, I suppose his input doesn’t matter that much.”

Anathema doesn’t answer and Crowley eyes her curiously. He really doesn’t think his question needs quite so much thought,

“Actually, it does.” She informs him after a while. “When we start a family…”

“Woah, wait a second.” He interrupts her, perplexed, “You’ve been dating for like… what? Three months? And you’re already thinking of starting a family?”

Anathema blushes some more, nervously playing with a lock of her dark hair,

“I know it sounds crazy. But we just… we’re meant to be. I know it. I don’t need to date him for a long time to know it for sure.”

Crowley nods. He can relate, truly. He feels the same way towards Aziraphale, even if their situation is completely different and basically impossible. She’s the one. He has known it from the moment he first saw her, even if it took him over a year (and the threat of her very imminent marriage) to force him to admit it to himself.

“Besides, I’ve got Grandma’s Agnes prophecy to go by.”

“Ah… What?”

Anathema laughs quietly,

“You’re going to think I’m crazy but you see, Grandma Agnes Nutter was something of a Seer.” Crowley arches an eyebrow and Anathema carries on, a big smile on her face, “she once told me that one day I would meet a boy, sleep with him right afterwards and spend the rest of my life with him.” She blushes again, her voice a quiet whisper now, “Newt and I met at the Trainee’s Party a year ago and…” she waves her hand meaningfully, making Crowley smirk, “anyway, I didn’t think about it afterwards, even if I paid him more attention than necessary. And then when Capitan Engel asked me to pick some information from Mr. Archangel…”

Huh. He wonders if Aziraphale knows the full story. Probably not, but it doesn’t really matter. Her match-making instincts are pretty good, it seems. “Good for you. Love is something quite… precious.”

Anathema giggles happily and Crowley can’t help to feel a little envious. “I know. Everyone should have the chance to experience it at least once in their lives.”

“Yes, they should.”

It’s a dreadful thing that, in his particular case, he won’t ever get the chance to experience it fully.

But it’s not like he ever expected any different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts anyone? Thanks for reading!


	27. Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter, sorry for the delay, I kept getting caught up with my work... Thanks to my lovely beta YourLocalIgor, who managed to check this chapter even though she was super busy!  
> This chapter has some mentions of past miscarriage, so just a quick warning! Nothing much happens in here, so you can go ahead an skip it, or read the til the second chapter break and then the last part.

Aziraphale wakes to an upset stomach and a pounding headache. She’s not sure why, though. She hasn’t drunk a single drop of anything alcoholic in the last week,she’s been working much too late for that. Whatever Hell is planning in Manchester must be big; bigger than Edinburg, she thinks, given that its keeping everyone in the office so late. She wishes she could ask Crowley what exactly is going on, but she very much doubts he’ll tell her. Actually, she’s fairly sure he doesn’t know either.

She shouldn’t worry that much, though. It’s not in her jurisdiction; she belongs to the South Garrison. However, seeing Commander Philips asked for her personal input…

She sighs. It’s quite tiring being so good at her work.

She checks her phone out of habit, but there’s no text from Crowley. He has been quiet since she had to cancel their meeting on Saturday. Anathema told her they weren’t able to find a ring; apparently none of the jeweler they visited had something that fitted Aziraphale’s specifications. She suspects it had little to do with lack of options and more to do with Crowley being moody because she didn’t show up.

Once more, she lets out a frustrated sighand stands up, making sure to stretch her back till it produces a satisfying “pop”. Her stomach protests once more and she barely manages to make it to the bathroom before the need to empty it overwhelms her.

She sits on the bathroom’s floor, resting her head against the wall. Her mouth tastes funny, but standing up and brushing her teeth feels like too much of an effort. She knows she can’t stay there all day; she’s got another meeting at 9 o’clock and shewoke up later than usual. She forces herself to stand up and get the shower running, then she brushes her teeth while she peels her pajamas off and gets in the shower. The water is freezing cold, but it does wonders for her aching head.

She showers and dresses in record time. She’s got half an hour to spare before she needs to get to the office, so she considers making breakfast. Her stomach lurches once more and she decides against itclearly something she ate wasn’t sitting well with her. She doesn’t worry much, though. It’ll pass; by midday she should be fine.Or so she hopes.

 

* * *

As it turns out, she was right. She feels better by midday, but the next day she’s once more woken by her stomach protesting. Her head is aching once again and the thought of food makes her ill. The weekend pass in the same manner and although she’s feeling better by Monday, she still wakes up feeling nauseated.

She losses herself in her work and refuses to wonder what’s wrong with her. She decides that if she isn’t feeling better in a week, she’ll ask Raphael to run some tests on her; but right now she’ll continue to focus on her current investigation.

Only it doesn’t work out as planned; things get pretty complicated after spending the night at her fiancé’s apartment.

Since she’s only sick in the morning, she has managed to hide it from her overbearing “brother” and her slightly paranoid fiancé. However, the morning she wakes up in James’ arms and feels the need to puke, she knows she’s in big trouble.

Her fiancé holds her hair while she empties her stomach, disregarding her protests against him seeing her in such an awful state. He rolls his eyes, calls her overdramatic and asks how long she has been feeling sick. When she confesses, he frowns,

“A week? Why didn’t you say anything?” Aziraphale shrugs,

“It’s just a stomach bug.”

“Maybe,” he tells her, running a hand through her hair, “and maybe not.”

“What do you mean?” James rolls his eyes,

“Really, Aziraphale? I have to spell it out for you?” When she just keeps on looking at him in confusion, he sighs and continues, “morning sickness?”

It’s like someone dropped an ice bucket on her. No, it can’t be. There’s no way. She tries to recall when her last period was and realizes it might not have happened since last November. But she can’t be pregnant,

“No. It’s not possible.”

“Are you on birth control?”

She shakes her head. She has never been, but… “I’ll head to the hospital. I’ll talk to Raphael.”

Her fiancé nods, although he’s frowning slightly,

“Yeah, you do that.”

There’s really nothing else to say.

* * *

  


Here’s another little secret about Aziraphale.

Or maybe not so little. It is, however, something absolutely no one knows about.

One day, when she was almost 16 years old, she had realized her period was about 2 weeks late. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time; it wasn’t as if she was very regular to begin with. However, she had just started having sex, so she’d decided to take a pregnancy test, just to be on the safe side.

She clearly remembers staring at the small plus sign on the test, but she can’t remember what she felt. She’s not sure if she was scared, or anxious, or happy. No matter how hard she thinks about it, she simply can’t recall.

As it turned out it didn’t matterall that much. That same night she hada fight with her uncle that had ended with a hard push and next thing she knew, she was laying on the floor, her back aching. She didn’t give it much thought until later that night when she’d woken to a searingpain in her lower abdomen and lots of blood. Her parents were out and her uncle had still been pissed at her, so she had known that it would be futile to ask to go to the hospital. Besides, judging by the pain and the amount of blood, it was too late for anything to be done.

As with the pregnancy test,she struggles to remember what she felt after the events of that night; but the truth is that ever since then, she has been careless about her sex life.

That’s not to say that when she wasn’t in a committed relationship, she wouldn’t always made sure her partners wore condoms, but ever since she got engaged, she didn’t take any precautions. Both she and James are required to take blood tests every 3 months and she always believed children were out of question for her, physically. She has never actually had any tests done; she doesn’t particularly want children and she really doesn’t want to let her fiancé know that she lost their child once before.

This doesn’t make sense; she has been having unprotected sex for the last 7 years and it’s only now she gets pregnant? It simply doesn’t add up. Of course, she knows her argument it’s not exactly very logical, but she doesn’t particularly cares. She’s upset and scared and so very worried.

How is she supposed to handle this? Before, when confronted with the idea of hypothetical children, she could dismiss her worries, telling herself it didn’t matter because she couldn’t get pregnant. But if that’s not case and she is, in fact, carrying a child, what is she going to do? It’s one thing to condemn herself and James to a loveless marriage, but an innocent child? How can she do that to her son or daughter?

When she thought of her marriage, she always believed she could handle it. It washer life the one on the line after all. It was an easy choice. But a baby? It just feels so wrong; she can’t have a child and not love it; yet how is she supposed to love the child, if she can’t love its father? If she never wanted it? If she dreads it?

She feels like such an awful person.

Raphael taps his fingers against the desk, while they wait for the results. It’s obvious he’s as tense as Aziraphale. She closes her eyes, as a new wave of nausea hits her. She can’t be pregnant. She just can’t!

Finally, the analysis machine beeps and Aziraphale forces herself to stay still, while her “brother” checks the results. Raphael skims through the whole report, a frown on his face and his lips a thin line,

“Negative,” he states, handing her the results.

She almost cries in relief. That in and of itself, she thinks,is awful; that she’s so happy about not being pregnant. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Engaged women, happy women, women in love aren’t supposed to feel that way.

But she doesn’t love her fiancé. She’s not happy with him; she’s in love with someone else.

“Aziraphale, please,” Raphael says, kneeling in front of her. “Reconsider it. Don’t do this to yourself. This was just a false alarm, but one day it might not be.”

“Thanks for everything, brother.” She interrupts him, standing up and hurrying towards the door, “I’ll see you around.”

She doesn’t need anyone telling her to reconsider. She knows she doesn’t want this life. Not anymore.

It doesn’t matter, though.

What she wants, she can’t have and what she needs is this.

She’ll be fine.

She has to be.

* * *

 

Aziraphale rubs her temples tiredly, the stress of the last week catching up with her. It’s been two days since she found out that she isn’t pregnant. She informed her fiancé right away (he too had seemed quite relieved upon hearing the news) and although she still feels nauseous most mornings, at least she knows she has nothing to worry about. Her blood test showed everything was normal, so Raphael thinks she’s just stressed.

Stressed. Huh, isn’t that the understatement of the century?

Crowley hasn’t called either. That upsets her more than anything else and although she knows it would be for the best if they finally distanced themselves fromeach other, she can’t help but crave his presence. She knows that any day now she’s going to cave in and call him.

Or maybe she’ll wait for the next meeting. It’s scheduled next week, after all.

There's a knock on the door and she looks up. Anathema standson the threshold, a shy smile on her lips. Aziraphale gestures for her to come in and the girl complies, taking a seat in front of the desk, sheplays nervously with a strand of her hair and chews her lip. Aziraphale arches an eyebrow questioningly and the younger woman speaks,

"I just... umm... I wanted to ask you if... if there was any chance that I could betransferred to a different division."

Aziraphale stares at her for a while. Sure, she didn't believe Anathema belonged in the Field Division, but the girl had always seemed so determined,"Why?"

Anathema takes a deep breath. "I just don't think that the Field Division is for me."

"Yes, but when you started your internship..."

"I'm pregnant." The other woman interrupts, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Aziraphale stares, speechless. Pregnant? Dear Lord, she has been dating Newt for… what? Four months? She’s not judging, she really isn’t. It’s just that her own pregnancy scare is still fresh in her mind,

“How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks, more or less.”

Dear God, they sure worked fast, huh? She aims for what she hopes is an encouraging smile,

“Can’t say I saw that one coming.” she mutters and Anathema’s blush deepens. However, she looks positively beaming, so Aziraphale guesses that, while unplanned, it’s a happyoccurrence. “Alright. Do you have any thoughts where would you like to be transferred?”

Anathema stares at her as if she has asked the dumbest question ever. In a way, Aziraphale supposes she has; women who have just found out they’re pregnant would want to be close to the baby’s father as much as possible, right? (never mind that if she was the one pregnant, she would be trying to stay away from James as much as possible) Transferring to the same Division as Newt seems logical.“Right. I’ll talk to Uriel.”

“Thank you, Capitan Engel.” She nods and the girl stands up, looking ready to flee. “There’s something else, if you don’t mind,” she says, turning back again, blushing some more. Aziraphale arches an eyebrow, encouraging the young woman to carry on. “Um… could you possibly give me your wedding planner’s number? Just for a quick consultation, because I don’t think we can really afford to pay him but…”

Aziraphale almost laughs, but contains herself. Anathema won’t understand what she finds so hilarious about her request,“I’ll talk to him, dear. Don’t worry; I’m sure he’ll happily help you.” Oh, Crowley is going to be so mad when he finds out.

“Right. Well… thank you again.”

“You’re welcome, dear girl.”     

Anathema leaves and Aziraphale contemplates what has just happened. That’s how a woman in love is supposed to look after finding out she’s pregnant. It’s never going to happen that way for her, but now she’s wondering if she wants it.

She takes out her phone and stares at it for a little while.

 ** _I’ve found you a new job_** _._ She writes a text and sends it quickly, before she can lose her courage.

 ** _Really? How so?_** Crowley’s response comes a few seconds later. Aziraphale smile widens.

**_Meet me for dinner and I’ll tell you._ **

This time the answer takes longer. She’s starting to think she won’t get an answer at all when her phone buzzes once more.

**_6 o’clock? Your place?_ **

**_See you at six._ **

Smiling happily to herself, having pushed all her dark thoughts to the back of her head, she exits her office, deciding to handle Anathema’s new situation right away.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts anyone? Thanks for reading!


	28. Speak now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding day aproaches. Neither of them is handling it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here's a new chapter!! A million thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta, YourLocalIgor!! Oh, and chapter title actually comes from Taylor Swift's song by the same name. I just kept listening to the song and well... it got me inspired.

“So your intern is getting married?” Crowley can honestly say he’s a little surprised by the news. Sure, after Anathema’s heartfelt confession whilst they were supposed to be picking out rings, he had known the girl would eventually marry her boyfriend, but this is quite sudden.

“Yep.” Aziraphale nods, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “I’ve surprised myself; I never knew my matchmaking skills were that good.” Crowley laughs,

“Maybe we both should quit our jobs and start a matchmaking business. You’ll handle the actual matchmaking and I’ll plan the weddings.” He lifts his glass, offering a mocking toast. “To our new entrepreneurial partnership.”

Aziraphale observes himover the rim of what could be her 7th glass of the evening. Damn, the girl could drink,

“I’m not completely opposed to the idea. At least it would solve our technically-being-enemies problem.”What exactly is that supposed to mean? Crowley leans closer, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s,

“Would it? And what would that accomplish?”She shrugs, leaning back on her chair, pouring herself another glass,

“I’m not sure, to be completely honest.” She closes her eyes, taking yet another sip. “But I know my life would be far simpler if I did something else for a living.”At that, he takes her hand in his and presses a soft kiss over her knuckles.

“Then why don’t we?” and there’s so much hope in his tone that he realizes just how drunk he is right now. In his right mind, he wouldn’t say such things. It will only leave him open for more heartbreak.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my dear.” She argues, shaking his hands off.

They continue drinking in silence after that. Crowley knows that the ache in his chest is his own damn fault for letting himself hope; he can’t really blame Aziraphale. Sure, she shouldn’t say things that make him think they might have a chance, but he sometimes wonders if she doesn’t half believe it too.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, taking another large sip from her glass. “I’m an awful human being.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I wish… God, I don’t even know what I wish for. Even if you didn’t work for Hell, I don’t think I could… I just…” she throws her glass against the wall, a broken sob escaping her lips. “Goddamnit, I’m a frigging mess.”Crowley is at her side in a second. He kneels in front of her, placing a hand over hers, rubbing soothing circles,

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be alright.” Aziraphale snorts,

“Don’t lie to me, Crowley. It’s not a smart thing to do.” He smiles sadly,

“What do you want me to say, Angel? I don’t exactly know how to be comforting.”

“Neither do I.” She rubs her eyes tiredly, keeping one of her hands interlocked with his. “Nor do I know how to deal with my feelings. I was always taught it was too dangerous to feel so it was better to just… push them away.” He hums, thoughtful,

“Then do that.”

“I can’t,” she whispers. “This,” she gestures between them, “this is too real for me to pretend it’s not here.”

There’s really nothing he can say to that. Or maybe there is, but he knows he should discourage this conversation from going any further. It won’t help matters at all; come tomorrow morning, she’ll still be engaged, he’ll still love her and they won’t ever be able to be together.

“You’ll call Anathema?” she asks after a while, dismissing their previous topic.

“Sure. I’ll help as much as I can.” He stands up and kisses her forehead softly. “We need to finish planning your wedding first, though. Maybe we could go looking for rings tomorrow after lunch?”

“Alright. And after our next official meeting, maybe we should go looking for a dress.”

He nods somberly. “See you tomorrow then. Sleep well, Angel.”

“You too, my dear. Good night.”

 

* * *

 

They meet at 2 o’clock, just as they agreed the night before, in the small café where their lives intertwined for the first time. They walk towards a small jewelry shop he visited with Anathema; he’s fairly certain Aziraphale will find something of her liking in there. Of course, he’s also fairly certain her fiancé would rather have expensive rings from some fancy brand, like Cartier, or Tiffany’s; but he also knows his counterpart well enough to guess she won’t wear anything that flashy every day, in the same way that she doesn’t wear her engagement ring.It’s a ridiculous ring with a huge diamond in the center and a band of smaller diamonds around the edge that must be worth more than they both make in a year and that he _knows_ that it’s currently lying on the bottom of one of the shelves in the bookstore.

If he were to choose an engagement ring for Aziraphale, it would be something simple and classy. Not a diamond either, because that’s just too extravagant for her. Maybe a pearl,even onyx or perhaps…

God, why does he do this to himself? What’s the point of torturing himself like this?

They enter the jewelry shop and Aziraphale browses through the rings displays. They don’t talk at all; he just watches her in silence. She looks thinner, like she hasn’t been eating properly in a while. There are bags beneath her beautiful eyes and he can see she hasn’t been getting much sleep either. He wonders why her fiancé hasn’t said anything.

Maybe he has; it’s not like Aziraphale tells him about every little detail of daily life with Heaven’s Field Division Chief Commander. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he feels jealousy overwhelming him. He has no right.

“Those are lovely, don’t you think?” he tells her, pointing at a pair of rings. They are made from entwined bands of yellow and white gold, with diamonds studded here and there. Aziraphalestuddies them and then shakes her head.

“They are,” she admits, shrugging. “Not my style, though.” He nods,

“How about those?” he says, pointing to a different set. Actually, when he came with Anathema, he’d known that Aziraphale would like them, but he’d decided not to point them out to the girl;he’d still been sulking at the fact that Aziraphale hadn’t come.

He hears the sharp intake of breath and knows they have a winner. He smiles as Aziraphale goes looking for a shop assistant to show them the rings. She comes back a few minutes later, a dark haired girl in tow. The assistant smiles charmingly at him as she takes the rings out, offering them to Aziraphale. She tries one out and shows it to Crowley, an honest smile gracing her lips.

It’s a wedding band made of white gold, with a brushed and polished grey line of tungsten in the middlewhich gives it an earthy look. It simple and gorgeous and perfect for her.

He looks at the other ring and figures her fiancé won’t be too happy with her choice. He can’t help to smile.

“We’ll take these ones” Aziraphale informs the other female. The woman smiles and nods, before pulling out a small tape measure and wrapping it around Aziraphale’s finger; she makes a small note on a pad and then turns towards Crowley, expectantly.He’s too busy staring at his companion, so he barely notices the look the girl is giving him,

“Sir, may I take your measurement, please?” she asks after a few seconds, when he doesn’t react.

“He’s not the groom.” Aziraphale informs her, her voice devoid of emotion. “Here, this belongs to my fiancé. I hope it works.”The girl blushes furiously and nods, hurriedly walking towards the cashier. Aziraphale is frowning, not looking at Crowley. He thinks he should say something, but he doesn’t know what.

“Take care of this, will you?” she tells him, handing over an envelope full of cash. Crowley arches an eyebrow, but she doesn’t notice. She turns around and exits the store, her steps heavy and the frown still fixed on her face.

Crowley sighs and then approaches the cashier. The girl that helped them is checking something on the computer and looks up at him.

“We’ll have them ready in 2 weeks. Is there something they would like inscribed inside?”

Crowley ponders the question. They don’t really strike him as the kind of couple to have secret promises engraved in their wedding rings. Actually, they’re the kind of couple that wouldn’t promise each other anything at all. If he was the groom, on the other hand…

“No. Nothing at all.”The girls nods and types something. He lets his mind wander, while she finishes the order.

“I’m…” she says, getting his attention back. She’s blushing furiously and bits her lips worriedly. “I know it’s none of my business, but… I… why is she marrying someone else? I mean, it’s obvious…”

“You’re right,” he interrupts her, his tone cold and slightly bitter. “It’s none of your business.”

He knows he’s being rude, but he doesn’t feel like talking about it, especially not to a complete stranger. The young woman blushes some more and then proceeds to tell him the total. He hands her the money and exits the store, his throat painfully constricted.This is getting more and more out of hand with each passing day.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Aziraphale tells him when they’re standing side by side once more. “See you in a week?”

“Did you know our next meeting is scheduled on February 14th?”Aziraphale snorts,

“Figures.” She sighs and looks at him sadly. “Thanks dear. For everything.” He nods,

“Have a pleasant week, Capitan Engel.”

He turns around before Aziraphale can react to his words. He hurries back towards Hell’s headquarters, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage. He closes his eyes and wills the pain away. Now is not the time to let this get under his skin.

Actually, it’ll never be time for that.

 

* * *

 

Valentine’s Day. What an awful time of the year. He sighs, running his hands through his hair, while he patiently waits next to the duck pound. He has a whole report carefully typed on Hell’s most recent activities (well, as much as he can share, anyway) and he knows Aziraphale will have a similar one when she arrives. It’s unlikely they’ll waste any time pretending this is a job meeting.

She arrives a few minutes later and frowns at him. Usually, she arrives before he does, but he is so eager to see her, than he doesn’t want to waste a single second. He smiles at her and hands her the report.

“Thank you, dear.” She offers him a similar report and he nods, carefully placing it inside the messenger bag he’s carrying.

“Let’s get this over with.” He whispers darkly, heading towards the wedding boutique he has researched. Aziraphale follows him in silence, obviously lost in her own thoughts.

Everything feels so wrong. They shouldn’t be doing this: she shouldn’t be marrying at all and he shouldn’t be pinning after her. And yet, here they are, both causing the other unimaginable pain because the mere thought of being apart is a hundred times worse.

What is he going to do once she’s actually married?

What is she going to do?

As they enter the boutique, the tension between them is evident. The shop assistant greets them with a timid smile, sensing the dark mood that has fallen over them. Aziraphale talks to the gown-advisor, an enthusiastic man that keeps his cheery attitude despite their curt answers.

Finally, Aziraphale walks into the dressing room and Crowley collapses in one of the small sofas in front of a mirror. He glances at his reflection, already knowing he won’t like what he’ll see. He has also been sleeping very little and restlessly, making dark circles appear beneath his eyes. His hair is a mess, there are tight lines across his face and all in all, he doesn’t look as collected as usual.

This weeding is going to be the death of him.

Two and a half more months to go.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly, making him look up. What he sees takes his breath away.

“You look… God, Zira, you look…”

There are no words to describe it, really. She’s wearing a strapless ball gown, with a high-low organza ruffled skirt,

“I’m not sure about it.” She tells him, eying herself in the mirror. “It’s just too… flashy.”

Maybe so; never the less she looks amazing. He comes closer to her, pushing her hair to the side and making her turn around so he can see the whole dress. The dress’ cut accentuates her natural curves, but hides just how bony she’s starting to look. It also displays the tattoo in her back,

“You’re truly an angel.” He whispers against her neck and she shivers. Their eyes lock for a couple of seconds, before she looks away and hurries back to the dressing room.

Crowley sighs, taking a seat once more.

It’s going to be a very long afternoon.

 

* * *

 

She ends up trying on at least 10 different dresses, before she settles for a pretty, sleeveless, A-line gown, with a beaded bodice. It’s simple, practical and suits her perfectly.

She’s the most beautiful bride ever and it’s killing him knowing she’s going to marry someone else.

“Glad we could help, Mr. Serpentone.” The dress advisor tells him while he pays. Once more, Aziraphale’d handed him the money and left the place, claiming to have work to do. “To be honest, when you and your fiancée walked in, I was a little worried about how tense you both looked, but it’s quite obvious you love each other very much.”

“She’s not my fiancée. We’re just… friends.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m terribly sorry…”

“Never mind.” He stares at the wedding gown, now lying over the counter. He can’t do this. He just can’t. It’s killing him slowly, but at the same time, he knows he’s not going to quit. He promised Aziraphale he would help and…His feelings don’t matter. It’s obvious she’s not going to change her mind, so he might as well come to terms with his sad reality. There’s no future for them, not now.

Actually, there never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone? Though I love writting drama and pinning and jealousy I'm aching to start writting some fluff!!! Hopefully, all this drama will be over in a little while... I'm thinking of breaking this story in parts, because otherwise it might end up being like 100 chapters... Opinions on that?  
> Thanks for reading!!!


	29. Run away now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! To everyone who's still reading after all this time... sorry for taking so long to update! This chapter was quite troublesome, I actually made 2 versions of it. The first one was, in my opinion, more beliveable, but it felt weak. This one feels stronger, but rushed (I think)  
> Anyway... let me know what you think?

Two weeks before the wedding, as Aziraphale stands in front of the mirror at the gown’s boutique for the last fitting, she’s half convinced she’s going to faint. She stares at her reflection and feels slightly numb, but when her eyes flicker towards Crowley, she feels sick with herself. He’s looking at her with such anguish that one would easily assume she’s about to walk to her execution and not down the aisle.

She runs her fingers over the front of her dress, removing imaginary wrinkles from it. Every time she has come in for fitting, there had been needed modifications because she keeps losing weight. She looks unhealthy; her ribs are starting to show, her hipbones have turned sharp and her cheekbones are looking more prominent with each passing day. Without any makeup, she’s starting to resemble more a cadaver than a living human being.

Her stomach refuses to hold in her meals, sleep doesn’t come unless she takes some pills and her hands won’t stop shaking half of the time. She’s skittish; her nerves can’t take any stimuli. She jumps at the smallest sound, cries whenever she’s alone and gets angry at any provocation. Her job is suffering from it and that only makes her want to work even longer hours.

She thinks she’s going insane. No, actually, she knows for certain she’s going insane. Why is she doing this? She’s going to kill herself. Her body won’t be able to take this stress for much longer and any day now she’s going to collapse.

But she doesn’t have a choice.

Or at least that’s what she keeps telling herself.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Aziraphale doing a presentation is a thing of beauty. The way she moves, how perfectly clear she gesticulates, her passionate tone… she’s gorgeous like this. She loves her work and it shows.

However, paying close attention to her instead of to what she’s saying, it’s easy to see there’s something wrong with her. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, hiding the horrendous state it’s in. She’s also wearing make-up, which helps to hide the dark circles under her eyes and just how prominent her cheekbones are starting to look. The white suit that used to fit her like a glove is now a baggy around her belly and her hips. However, it’s ridiculously easy to overlook these details and get lost in her passionate speech.

James leans back in his seat and watches her. He already knows what she’s talking about, having read her report the day before, so he can concentrate on just looking at her. The truth is that while he might never have been in love with her, he has always admired her. He knows Aziraphale is smart, talented, resourceful and driven. He knows that if she cared enough about status and power and she didn’t enjoy Field work so much, she would be the one sitting at the head of the table right now.

She’s brilliant at her job because she has always been able to detach herself from the situations. She sees things nobody else does and she doesn’t let her emotions get in the way of what needs to be done. That’s why she’s here today, when this is supposed to be a reunion just for Commanders.

The situation in Manchester is dire. Whatever Hell is planning is big, but they’re hiding it pretty well. While there’s a truce between them, Heaven knows it’s unwise to stay in the dark about this new development. It’s not like they can trust Hell to play fair.

“Did your contact in Hell tell you all of this?” Commander Singer from the East Garrison asks when Aziraphale makes a pause to allow questions. She snorts, running a hand through her hair, messing it even more.

“Of course not. I’m certain he doesn’t even know. Which brings me back to my early point: whatever they’re planning, it’s dangerous. So dangerous they won’t even let most of their people know.”

Aziraphale’s contact. James almost snorts. He’s more than that; far much more.

It’s worrisome, because Aziraphale has always been able to separate her emotions from her job, but right now he’s not sure she’s doing that. Oh, he knows she won’t betray Heaven consciously, but who knows what she might do without noticing? A woman in love it’s a very dangerous loose end.

Their eyes lock for a minute and he can tell she knows what he’s thinking. He was hoping this marriage might work in keeping her away from the Enemy, but now he’s not so certain. Aziraphale won’t cheat on him; not physically at least. Emotionally however…

There’s also the toll this is taking on her to consider. In the morning, without any make up and any clothing, she looks awful. She looks like she’s dying and she’s sick half of the time. She still pukes every morning, she barely eats, barely sleeps; he’s not sure how is she managing to survive. Or how long she can keep up with this.

Something needs to be done, but what?

James closes his eyes and sighs as Aziraphale carries on with her presentation. This thing she has with Crowley is going to be the death of her. Either because she’s going to kill herself overworking, going on for hours without food or sleep due worry and/or grief or because she’ll end up doing something stupid.

There’s really nothing that he can do, though. He’s trying. He’s trying so damn hard. He let her down before; he wasn’t there when she needed him, he didn’t listen when she was begging for help. Right now, however, he’s not certain if by insisting in this marriage he is going to save her or kill her: she’s endangering herself with how little care she’s taking of herself. Most people might not notice, but he does. She’s looks beyond tired: she looks done. Like she can barely carry on.

His eyes find Michel’s a few seconds later. He’s glaring at him and he forces himself not to roll his eyes. There he is, behaving like an overprotective older brother; like he’s not to blame for Aziraphale’s current condition. If he actually listened to him and followed his instructions, they wouldn’t be in this mess- he suggested they sent someone else, Michel argued that no one was as good as Aziraphale. He claimed it was too dangerous, Michel affirmed that Aziraphale could kick both their asses so there was nothing to worry about. He insisted it was a bad idea and Michel said-

Michel said that everything would be fine. If anyone could handle whatever Hell sent their way, it was Aziraphale.

This is true, of course. Just look at what she has managed to find out in a few weeks of research and the plans she has come up with. The girl is beyond brilliant; she’s always a step ahead from the enemy. She could handle anything Hell threw her way.

Problem is this isn't a plan Hell could have come up with. They may have been hoping to distract her with Crowley’s good-looks, but they certainly didn’t plan for them to fall in love. In fact, that is such a great inconvenience that if Hell ever found out, they would not hesitate to take out their own agent.

Heaven won’t do that, though. Not to Aziraphale. To any other agent… Well, it doesn’t matter. They won’t do it to Aziraphale because she’s too smart, too talented, too useful.

And of course, there’s also the matter that he doesn’t doubt Michel would never follow an order that included hurting or letting someone hurt his “baby sis”.

Feelings are so inconvenient; that’s why he has never bothered with them before. Love is for weaklings; an overrated emotion that brings nothing but complications. It clouds the judgment and makes you take ridiculous risks.

He never thought he would have to worry about Aziraphale succumbing to such a stupid thing. She’s better than that. She knows better than that. The fact this is happening irks him beyond reason. Heck, if she was sleeping with Crowley he wouldn’t worry; she has always been perfectly capable of not letting her hormones interfere with her job, but this…

She’s in love. It’s going to kill her; they both know it. Should he keep trying to fight it? Probably. Regardless of everything else, she’s the closest thing he has to an actual friend. On the other hand, he’s got the slight suspicion she’s beyond salvation.

He takes one look at the carefully disguised dark circles under her eyes, her pale complexion, her too baggy clothes and sighs.

 The prospects certainly aren’t encouraging.

 

* * *

 

The Friday before the wedding, she’s still at the office, going over some information regarding Manchester. She has formed a plan about what can be done, but she thinks it would be better if she had some intel from the inside. She’s writing a mail for Uriel, asking for him to send someone, when the door of her office opens and her fiancé walks in.

“Ready for tomorrow?”

She tries to smile, but doesn’t succeed. Sighing, she answers “Can I help you with something James?”

He stares at her for a while, finally coming to stand next to her and pulling her up for a hug. She tenses for a second, before her whole body relaxes and molds against her companion. He’s warm and her mind takes comfort on the familiar presence, even if it’s not the one she actually craves.

“Everything will be over soon” he whispers against her ear, running his hands over her back “you’ll be fine soon enough.”

She sure hopes so.

 

* * *

 

“And do you, Aziraphale Engel, take this man, James Good, to be your lawful wedded husband to love, honor and cherish through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

Aziraphale opens her mouth to utter a yes. Instead, she replies, “no”

She won’t. Just like that, she realizes she can’t do this. She has always known it, in some unconscious level, but right now, everything seems so obvious. She immediately pulls away, stricken by her sudden epiphany. “I can’t” she whispers, horrified by what could have been. How could she be so blind?

“What?”

“I can’t” she states panicky. Her mind is going overdrive with images of what could happen if she carries on with this. Of what will happen if she does carry on.

“Aziraphale…”

God, how did she let things go this far? How could she let her stupid fear overrule her? How could she not see that marrying won’t solve a damn thing and will instead make it worse? How can she even begin to think marriage will make her feelings for Crowley subdue?

She can’t act on what she feels, but she can’t live a lie. She already does, in a way, however this is even bigger. This isn’t about surviving; on the contrary, this will kill her.

So will her love for Crowley, but at least, for a little while, it’ll be alright.

God, how could she be so stupid?

“I’m sorry James. I can’t.”

She turns around and leaves in haste, without even looking back. She can hear the surprised gasps from the guests, the angered yells from her would-be mother in law, her fiancé’s calls for her, but at the same time, she hears nothing. She hurries out of the room, away from what would have been the biggest mistake of her life.

“Zira!” she hears Michel coming after her and she figures that the rest of her ‘brothers’ are following closely too. She walks faster, knowing that if they catch up with her they’ll want to _talk_ and she can’t talk right now.

Maybe she won’t ever want to.

Once outside, she looks around. Cameras are flashing around her and dear God, she has just caused a scene, hasn’t she? She can already see the tabloids headings, going on about how she left in haste, how crazy she must be, how-

It doesn’t matter. She needs to get out of here right now. If this was a movie, she would run to Crowley’s apartment, throw herself into his arms, both would confess their feelings and they’d live happily ever after.

But this isn’t a movie, so instead she stops a cab and asks to be taken to the airport.

She needs some time away.

She might not have married but she can still go on her honeymoon, can’t she?

 

* * *

 

The room is bigger than she anticipated and there are rose petals decorating every surface. She scowls at the bed and heads straight to the balcony, carrying with her the bottle of champagne that had been also part of the honeymoon special.

She closes her eyes, feeling the breeze from the sea on her skin. It’s late at night, so the beach is mostly empty. There’s no other sound than a few birds and the waves crashing.

She takes a sip straight from the bottle, a sad smile on her lips. She hasn’t been in Greece before; it’s a pity she won’t be leaving the hotel’s room much. She’s not in the mood for sightseeing.

A few hours before, her whole life crashed and burn. She knows there’ll be repercussions for her actions and she should be worried, but right now, she isn’t feeling much. Later she’ll think of what she’s going to do, but for now, she’ll enjoy her newfound freedom.

It’s not perfect, not even close.

But it’s better than the other option.

 

* * *

 

She spends the mornings at the hotel’s gym, on the treadmill, trying her best to ignore her conflicted feelings. She shouldn’t have carry on with the wedding; she always knew it wasn’t what she wanted and now she’s not sure why she ever believed it was what she needed. It’s too late for regrets though and worrying won’t solve a damn thing.

She’s been getting updates of the situation in London from Gabriel, who’s doing a ridiculous amount of damage control. The fall out of the wedding doesn’t concern Heaven directly, but seeing one of its top executives is involved, Gabriel has been ordered to handle the situation to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t like it, but he keeps telling her he’s just glad she didn’t go through with that farce.

Michel calls every day, demanding updates on her emotional state. She always rolls her eyes and tells him she’s fine. A little shaken, but getting better. She’s finally holding in her meals and although she doesn’t sleep as much as she would like, she manages to get at least 4 hours every day. Raphael and Uriel also call, even if they’re not as insistent as her boss.

James calls the day after the would-be wedding to make sure she had reached her destination safely. He hangs up immediately after she says she’s ok.

All in all, things aren’t as bad as they could be.

She spends her afternoons lounging at the room’s balcony, enjoying the warmth and the gentle breeze. She asks for room service whenever she gets hungry and asks for a bottle of wine to be delivered with each meal. She eats and drinks with gusto.

The evenings are the worst, though. She lays in bed tossing and turning, worrying about should-be’s, would-be’s and what-if´s. When she manages to get some sleep, she usually wakes up with her heart pounding hurtfully against her ribcage, either because of terrible nightmares or highly pleasurable dreams.

The second are the worst, because they always leave her body craving for something. She’s used to nightmares, but the ache between her legs and in her heart is something she’s not quite sure how to cope with.

Crowley calls every day. And texts. And leaves voice mails. And sends e-mails. She never answers.

Dealing with her emotions is hard. If she could chose, she would ignore them for the rest of her life. However, she knows that’s not really an option.

She still figures they can wait till she goes back to London.

Being away is good for her. All the plans she had for Manchester are discarded and she starts anew. She starts developing new ideas for Edinburg. She comes up with solutions for problems that a few days ago seemed unsolvable.

Her work benefits from the distance.

But all good things must come to an end and so, her pretense of being back to the Aziraphale Engel who just focused and cared about her job must end. The day she’s scheduled to flight back to London she heads to the airport real early, sits close to the departing room and waits.

It’s time to face down her demons.

It’s time to face Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts anyone? Feel free to leave a comment here or you can find me in ylc1.tumblr.com  
> Thanks for reading!


	30. The fall out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the not-wedding, there are still many things to discuss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this ages ago... and I keep forgetting to update. Terribly sorry! But here's a new chapter!  
> Enjoy?

Crowley spends the night before the wedding at Madam Black’s brothel. Not exactly the healthiest way to deal with his heartbreak, but he figures it’s better than spending the night getting so drunk that he can barely see straight.

In the morning though, he does end up drinking. Forgetting his woes with mindless pleasure only works for so long and as the time for the wedding approaches, he finds himself unable to think of anything other than Aziraphale.

He sits in front of the TV, entertaining himself with old comedy shows that he can’t bring himself to find funny. Not even his favorite episodes from the Golden Girls seem able to distract him from the ache in his chest. He drinks and drinks, hoping to get so drunk he’ll pass out and so he won’t end driving to where the wedding is being held, crash the party and beg Aziraphale to elope with him.

That wouldn’t do.

He changes channels mindlessly, not really paying attention. It’s mere luck that he happens to drop the tv remote while a gossip show is on some channel and he ends up listening to the news of the wedding being cancelled.

“… not sure how that happened, really. I mean, we all might have thought he’d be the one having second thoughts but-” one of the show’s presenter says, exhibiting a look of pure befuddlement, her partner nodding along.

“Just further proof of how she didn’t deserve him, if you ask me” the other comments, a sarcastic smile adorning her rather pretty features and Crowley can’t contain the growl that leaves his mouth. How dare they?! How can anyone even think that Aziraphale didn’t deserve James Good? It was completely the other way around!

Aziraphale might not be the most beautiful woman, but she’s quite a catch. She’s smart, resourceful, funny, caring, gentle…

She’s absolutely perfect and anyone who can’t see that it’s an idiot.

His anger last little, though, because the implications of the news finally catch up with him and suddenly he feels drunk in happiness, instead of alcohol. A huge grin takes over his face and he finds himself making a little victory dance.

He’s quite aware he must look foolish, but he doesn’t particularly care. The love of his life didn’t marry and that means-

What does that mean?

He hurries to get his smartphone and starts looking for more news. He gets irritated once more after reading a bunch of articles dismissing Aziraphale’s talents and calling her crazy for cancelling the wedding, but tries his best to ignore those and focus on finding out what she’s doing right now.

He finds some photos of Aziraphale at the airport, still wearing her wedding gown and scowling. There’s another of her leaving a store clad in a cheap shirt, the kind tourists buy at the airports, sweatpants and flip-flops. That same article also shows her ridiculously expensive dress left at the changing room.

He smiles, unable to hold back his happiness at the turn of events. He knows that what lies ahead won’t be full of happiness and love, but it’s a start.

Isn’t it?

* * *

 

When two days pass and Aziraphale still doesn’t answer his calls, texts or emails, he starts to suspect that things aren’t as good as he thought.  She’s avoiding him, that much is clear, and he’s at lose of what to do now. A part of him is seriously considering taking the first plane to Greece and confronting her, but another part knows that it would be a very bad idea.

So he settles for the next best thing: he gets to her bookstore and waits for her there.

The bookstore is too cramped and her bed is awfully uncomfortable, but he’s determined to be there when Aziraphale comes back. He mostly works from home and if his coworkers find this odd, they don’t comment. He doesn’t have much work to do, anyway. He knows there’s something big going on, but he’s not important enough to be given details.

Finally, almost 2 weeks later, Aziraphale barges in.

She’s wearing another of those tourist’s t-shirts and jeans, along with the flip-flops. She must be freezing, but seeing she left the country in a hurry, he’s not too surprised by her appearance. She probably didn’t leave the hotel she was staying.

“Zira.” He whispers, standing up. She looks at him, startled; she obviously wasn’t expecting him. She takes a step back and gulps audibly. They stand in silence, staring each other down, none sure of what to do.

“Zira, I-” he starts, unsure of what he wants to say, but suddenly she’s standing right in front of him, with a look of determination on her face. She’s trembling a little and he’s not sure how to interpret her body language, but next thing he knows she’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow.

He ends up laying on the couch, Aziraphale on top of him, straddling his hips. His breath catches when she starts sucking his neck and moans loudly, bucking his hips on instinct. He can feel her smirk against his skin as her mouth travels lower, undoing his shirt’s buttons as she goes. She’s warm and soft and everything he ever dreamed of but something feels wrong.

It’s hard to point out what’s wrong though, with the way she’s kissing him and the way her hips moves against his, creating the most delicious friction. A part of him just wants to go along with it and forget about everything, but another, more logical part, is demanding to stop and search for answers. “Zira,” he tries, but she just presses closer, earning a groan from him “Zira, wait,” he tries again, cupping her face and trying to catch her eye.

Her eyes are icy blue. There’s no passion, no lust and definitely no love, just cold determination and absolute detachment. He’s seen that look before: is the one she has whenever she has to do something she doesn’t like but that it’s part of her job.

He pushes her away. That’s what’s wrong. She doesn’t want to do this, but then, what- “What are you doing?”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She’s still sitting on top of him, but at least she has stopped moving. His treacherous body desperately wants her to move again, but he forces himself to stay still, despite his body crying out for release. “Angel?” he questions again, after a prolonged silence.

“You just couldn’t go along with it, could you?” she whispers, standing up. He grabs her hand, a part of him not wanting her to leave, but he immediately lets go. He sits, trying his best to get his body to calm down. They’re going to have a serious conversation and he doesn’t need his hormones to get in the way.

Aziraphale sighs, taking a seat on the other side of the couch, folding her knees in front of her. “This last 2 weeks have been… eye-opening.” She declares calmly, staring at the distance. “I realized I was a fool to even think that being married would eventually make my feelings for you go away.” She closes her eyes, barely holding back tears. “I’ve never- I’ve never felt this way before. It’s… unsettling. I don’t like it. It makes me angry. I feel I should have better control over my emotions but I just can’t- I just can’t push this feeling away. And the thing is I know it’s a very bad idea, that it’ll cause me nothing but heartbreak and death. Still… I want to be with you.”

Crowley’s breath catches at her heartfelt words, his heart beating furiously, happiness and hope blossoming inside of him. “Angel-”

“I can’t, though. We’re enemies, Crowley. Regardless of everything else, we work for different causes. And I believe in what I do. I believe in the importance of what I do, I believe in the necessity of eradicating your organization, I believe-”

“Zira, I don’t-”

“Would you quit?”

He gulps. He can’t. It’s not his choice to work for Hell, but he knows he can’t quit. His life depends on him doing a decent job and if he’s honest with himself, he’s too scared of Hell’s retribution to quit. He loves Aziraphale, he really does, but his self-preservation instincts are stronger.

“You see?” she asks him, a smile on her lips “this” she gestures between the two “is not strong enough.”

“Now, wait a second-” he wants to explain, to make her understand why he does what he does. Besides, at this point, it’s probably for both of their sakes that he carries on with his job, because if his sister finds out the reason he wants to quit is Aziraphale-

“You don’t have to explain” she argues calmly, “I’ve got no right to ask you that. You have your reasons to serve Hell, like I’ve got my reasons to work for Heaven.” She takes a deep breath “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. Not fully.”

She shrugs, noncommittally. “It doesn’t matter, dear. Ours is a relationship doomed to fail. It won’t get anywhere, regardless of my new relationship status, because there’s nowhere to go.”

He sighs, conceding her point. She’s right; there might be a truce between Heaven and Hell for the moment, but it won’t be eternal. Eventually, unless one of them quits, they’ll be forced apart. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

She reaches for his hand. “Carry on as before. Pretend there’s nothing deeper going on in here.”

“That won’t work.”

“I know.” She comes to kneel in front of him, cups his jaw and holds his gaze, “I’m just not strong enough to lose you. Not while there’s a truce. Not while, stupid as it is, I have hope.”

“If you have hope” he whispers, placing his hand on top of the one caressing his cheek “then why pretend there’s nothing going on between us?”

“Because when it all comes down to it, I could still fight a friend. I could never fight… something else.”

What can he say to that? It’s an egotistical way of dealing with this, but he can’t blame her for wanting to protect herself. And the truth is, he’s in too deep to deny her anything. “Alright then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

She lets out a hollow laugh. “I’m a coward, Crowley. How is that not my fault?”

He kisses her; just a soft peck on her lips. “I’m scared too. I’ll rather have this, than risk losing everything.”

“Conformists, then.” She smiles softly, exchanging another chaste kiss “afraid of change.”

“Yes. Sounds about right.” Another kiss and she crawls back into his lap,“we can’t do this. Friends don’t do this.”

Aziraphale hums. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It will” he whispers, between kisses, their hips rocking together, “it can’t be meaningless between people that… care for each other.”

She stands up then, kissing his nose, looking morose. “I’m sorry, dear.”

He closes his eyes, nodding. His body is starving for her touch, but he knows it would only make it worse in the long run. “Let’s get some sleep, huh? I bet you’re tired.”

Aziraphale smiles mournfully. “I’m kinda hungry, actually.”

He laughs at that. “Then lets order some take out. I’m not in the mood to go out.”

He orders Chinese food while she changes into her pajamas. They sit on her bed, talking and eating and eventually, she drifts to sleep. Crowley holds her close, trying to convince himself this is enough.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anybody? I know I'm overcomplicating things, but everything has a reason, I swear! There'll be romance in the future, just not yet...  
> Remember you can also find me in tumblr: ylc1.tumblr.com  
> Thanks for reading!


	31. Back to normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes back to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new update! This is quite a long chapter and I struggled a lot with it but I kinda like how it ended up being... let me know what you think?

Aziraphale squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath and walks into the meeting room. Her vacations are officially over, although she doubts anyone is expecting her. She has to get back to work, though. She’s done too much thinking on these last few days and she needs to do something to take her mind off things. She doesn’t want to think about her non-relationship with Crowley any longer. If she does, eventually, she’ll convince herself that keeping her distance is a mistake and she’ll end up giving into her instincts and acting on her emotions.

She can’t afford that.

“Morning, gentlemen” she greets when everyone in the room turns to look at her. With the going ons in both Edinburgh and Manchester, there had been meetings being held every Monday for the last 2 months and although technically they’re only for Commanders, she always ended up assisting.

She acts as if nothing has changed. James is at his usual place at the head of the table, so she comes to stand to his right. Her ex-fiancé barely spares a glance in her direction, focused on the papers he’s holding. Aziraphale smiles politely at the Commanders. “Any changes in my absence?” she asks, her tone light. Supposedly, no meetings were going to be held on the past 2 weeks, since she and James were supposed to be on their honeymoon, but seeing how that turned out, she’s not sure what has been going on.

“No” James is the one to respond, even if she can see Michel opening his mouth, ready to answer her. “We were waiting for you, Capitan Engel. I believe you have a new plan for Edinburgh?”

Michel is staring at her with nervousness, even though he looks relieved to see her again. She knows her “brothers” worried about her and they’ll question her later, no doubt. For now, she’ll focus on her work. “Indeed. Shall I start then, High Commander?”

James eyes her for couple of seconds, before gesturing for her to carry on, his attention back to his papers. The Commanders observe them with open curiosity, in a mix of worry and amusement. Aziraphale takes a deep calming breath and begins her speech.

She has faith in this plan, especially considering she basically rewrote it during her would-have-been honeymoon, when she felt she was back on the top of her game. She knows this will work.

She can do this. She’s good at this. So what if her personal life is an absolute mess? She’s still one of Heaven’s best agents. She can separate her work from her emotions.

Can’t she?

* * *

 

“Capitan Engel, a word please?”

The meeting is over and so she’s walking out of the room when her ex-fiancé calls her. She nods, ignoring the curious glances she’s receiving, along with Michel’s troubled one. She smiles at him pleasantly, gesturing for him to leave. Her boss nods stiffly, obviously unconvinced, but willing to trust her judgement.

“Listen James, I-” she begins the minute the door is closed, but her companion interrupts her, standing up and slamming the documents he has been holding during the whole meeting against her chest.

“I’m going on vacations. You’ll be in charge. Well, technically, Michel will be, but you know I really expect you to handle everything.”

“I-”

“It’s only fair, seeing I was the one left dealing with the press and your overbearing brothers after you left me at the altar.”

She flinches at his tone, but refuses to feel bad about what she did. “It was for the best. In the long run-”

“I don’t want to hear the logic behind your behavior, Aziraphale. I don’t care.” He’s standing close to her, towering over her, practically breathing in her face, making her feel slightly intimidated. “Can I count on you?”

“Yes.” She utters with conviction, taking a step back in a desperate need to distance herself from him. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good.” His gaze is cold and calculating and she forces herself not to cower under his strong stare. “I hope you know you signed your death warrant. I hope you remember I tried to help you.”

She nods. She’s certain that his “solution” to her problem wasn’t the healthiest and would only cause more pain in the long run, but she does know he was trying to help. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t. Not yet.” He cups her face gently, in what an outsider would interpret as a sweet gesture, but Aziraphale knows better. “You’ll be. Sooner or later you’ll regret it.” He closes his eyes and takes a step closer to her, resting his forehead against her, “I care for you, Zira. I wish I knew how to help you, because everytime I’ve tried… I’ve failed.”

“James-”

“Good luck” he steps away and walks out before she can say another word. Aziraphale bits her lip, feeling tears threatening to fall. She can do this. She’s stronger than this.

She’ll be okay.

She has to be.

* * *

 

Crowley is practically living with her now. Mostly, she suspects, because he worries about her and wants to make sure she recovers her health. He makes her breakfast and dinner and calls to remind her to have lunch. She’s getting better, physically, and she’s also sleeping a whole lot more, so that helps too.

She’s not entirely sure of how she feels about this new development. She likes the company and she can’t deny she’s glad their relationship is somewhat more stable now. Still, she knows it can’t last and that hurts.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale sighs, her eyes never leaving the screen of her computer. She has lots of work and while Michel might be technically in charge, she’s the one handling most things. Not because she thinks Michel is incapable, but because it helps her to keep her mind blissfully blank. If she’s not working, she’s thinking about her relationship with Crowley and that only succeeds in making her feel angsty.

“Michel, we’ve been through this. I’m fine. I’m getting better.”

“I just-  Zira, we were so worried.” He tells her urgently, coming to sit in front of her desk. “When you left, we had no idea where were you heading. And although we were glad you didn’t go through with a marriage you didn’t want, we worried that you somehow would end up doing something worse.”

She wonders if almost sleeping with the enemy counts as “something worse”. Probably. Probably not. Depends, if it was only sex or not.

Crowley was right. It wouldn’t have been meaningless.

“Zira?”

“I’m sorry. I’m distracted.”

“Why don’t you stay with us for a while? You need company.”

I have company. “I’m fine, brother. Stop worrying about me.”

“But-”

“I need some time and space, Michel. I’m doing better, but it’s a process. I’m recovering from a whole lot of mistakes that almost ruined my life, after all.”

He nods, thoughtful. “I never liked you fiancé.”

She laughs, “I know. He doesn’t like you either.” She grabs his hand and squeezes lovingly “but you must believe me: he had my best interests in his heart.”

Michel scoffs. “I doubt that.”

“You shouldn’t.” She argues with conviction, “trust me.” She would have been safer if she had married. She would have been less likely to do something foolish if she had gone through with the wedding, even if it would have meant dying slowly due heartbreak. She knows that’s not what she wants, but she knows that it would have been safer.

She can’t tell Michel that.

“I trust you, Zira. I do believe you made the right choice.”

She hopes so.

She desperately hopes so.

* * *

 

“You know, Philips asked for you again.”

Aziraphale manages to stop herself from yelping at the unexpected voice when she walks into her office, two weeks after she returned to work. Her ex fiancé is sitting in the chair in front of her desk, skimming through the files she left there. “Did he now?” she asks, her tone even, despite her surprise at her sudden visitor. She not sure why she’s so surprised, though. She should have suspected he’d be back any day now.

“Of course Michel said that he would take you away ‘over his dead body’, but I’m thinking- Maybe it would do you some good to get out of the city. Just for a while; nothing permanent.” He says flippantly, like they’re discussing the weather. Something’s not right with this conversation, but she can’t pinpoint what exactly. His tone is too light, the issue is too serious and something just doesn’t add up.

Still, she considers it. It’s no secret that Commander Philips has been wanting her to join his Garrison for a long while, but Aziraphale can’t bring herself to leave London. Even if there’s more actual field work to do in the North, she belongs in London. Besides, she couldn’t do that to Michel. He’s a good Commander, but without Aziraphale he’d be a little lost.

Although with the going-ons in Edinburgh…

“I can’t. My place is here.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I think you should get away for a while, to figure out what you really want.” He smirks then and she can feel a chill going through her spine, but forces herself to remain unmoved.

“James-”

“Training camp begins in 2 weeks. It might do you some good.”

She shudders, suddenly feeling ill. “Are you crazy? The idea of reviving some of the worse 6 months of my life isn’t very appealing.”

“You would be one of the instructors, not one of the trainees.” He dismisses her worries, an odd glint in his eyes.

“I’m not sadistic enough to enjoy that.” She argues darkly. Training camps are awful; trying to break young men and women just to prove they’re worthy of Heaven? Not her idea of fun. She disapproves of the camps and although she has brought up her concerns to the Council, there’s really nothing she can do to change what she knows it’s a barbaric practice.

But she most certainly won’t be part of that.

“You could show them a thing or two about surviving.” James tells her, standing up, preparing to leave. “Pack your bags; you’ll be going.”

“No James, I-”

“You forget your place, Capitan Engel.” He’s now standing at the door, looking at her seriously, “it might help you re-find yourself.”

She glares as he exits. Yes, because torturing teens is exactly the best way to rediscover herself. She sighs; this might end up doing more harm than good.

Still, she can’t refuse a direct order.

She may as well start packing.

* * *

 

She’s starting to think it was an awful idea. If someone finds out- No, she shouldn’t worry. It’s highly unlikely that someone would notice. After all, the Spy Division has hundreds of special mobile phones, programmed to avoid being tracked and not keeping any sort of record of calls or texts. She just took two from storage and replaced them with a regular ones; it’d be terribly bad luck if someone picked exactly those two phones and realized the change. Odds are that nobody will notice.

It’s not safe to keep using their personal phones to keep texting or calling each other. And if she’s going to be away for a while, she suspects she’ll be calling Crowley far more often.

She’s not going to even begin to contemplate if calling him is a good idea.

It’s been two weeks since she was informed of her new mission and she has avoided telling Crowley the truth. She’s not sure why, maybe she’s worried she won’t leave if he asks her to stay. Only that really isn’t an option, so maybe she doesn’t want to risk things getting down to that.

But now the date of her departure has finally arrive  and there’s no way she can’t keep postponing this.

She’s scheduled to leave in a few hours, so she jogged to her counterpart’s apartment, slid the phone under the door along with a note explaining she’s going away and ran back to her place to finish getting ready. Regardless of the trial these last few months have been, she’s suspecting the “Training Camp” is going to be far worse. She’s not sure she can handle it.

Especially not on her own.

It’s ridiculous how much she has come to depend on a man that it’s supposed to be her enemy. For years she has been on her own, holding up by herself, never allowing herself to depend on someone else. She has had work-partners and bosses and subordinates, but in reality she’s always been on her own.

She doesn’t work well with others.

She doesn’t trust people.

What makes Crowley so different?

Frowning, she focuses on finishing breakfast. She had promised herself she would stop over analyzing things. Her friendship with the enemy agent might the stupidest thing she has ever done, but she won’t gain anything by worrying. She’s been through this before: she won’t stop seeing him, so she might as well stop pretending she wants to do something about it, regardless of her doubts.

Her “new” phone starts ringing.

“Hello?”

“What do you mean you’re leaving for a while? How long is ‘a while’?”

She smiles, picturing Crowley’s scowl. “Six months. I’m going to the Training Camp.”

“Six-?! But, what about our meetings? The official ones, I mean. We-”

“I’ll come back for them” she assures him calmly “They might end up being scheduled on the weekends, but I’ll be here for them.”

She can practically hear the other sulking, “I’m not happy about this. Why are they sending you away? Does someone-?”

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’ll be just for a while. I’ll be back before you know it and we can keep on communicating through these phones.”

“I still don’t like it. I’ll miss you.”

Her heart constricts painfully at his words. Friends are not supposed to feel like this. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

He huffs at that. “Don’t be ridiculous, angel. I just- it’ll be odd not seeing you every other day.”

“I know.” That’s why it needs to be done, she leaves that part unsaid, although she knows it’s true. If she’s not going to act on her feelings, distance might be her greatest ally. It might be the only way to make this ache inside her subside a little.

“Okay.” He whispers, sounding defeated, knowing there’s nothing he can do or say that would change this, “just take care. I’ll call as much as I can.”

She smiles sadly. “I’ll hold you up to that. See you around, my dear.”

“Goodbye angel.”

She hangs up.

This next six months are going to be hell.


	32. Assigments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a new assigment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s chapter 32! Sorry for the long wait, even though I’ve already written till chapter 35, I keep forgetting to update…   
> Anyway, enjoy?

It’s another slow day at the office. Lately, everyday seems to be so. Crowley is not sure if that’s because he’s paying little attention to the going-ons in Hell or if the last few weeks have been really that uneventful.

He doesn’t care one way or another. It leaves him enough time to remembrance his very eventful nights (okay, maybe they aren’t eventful, but they’re quite pleasant. Getting the spend the night with the woman he loves, regardless of the “platonic” nature of their relationship, it’s quite lovely)

On that particular morning, he’s contemplating the merits of preparing an elaborate dinner to celebrate that it’s been two months since Aziraphale’s not-wedding (although of course, he won’t tell her that) when someone steps into his office, dragging his attention away from his daydreaming.

“What do you want?” he hisses darkly, his previous good mood quickly evaporating.

“Really Crowley, that’s no way of greeting your sister” the woman replies playfully, a smirk gracing her lips. “After all, we haven’t seen each other since… what? December?”

“This isn’t a social visit. So cut down to the chase and tell me what you want” he argues, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

His sister continues smirking, coming to stand closer to him. The resemblance between them is obvious; they have the same nose, lips and high cheekbones. There are subtle differences; Crowley’s skin is slightly tanned, his sister is ivory white and while he has dark hair, hers is a lovely shade of blond.

The eyes are also different, seeing Crowley inherited his mother’s family trait; the almost golden eyes that sometimes look more reptilian than human. His sister, on the other hand, has their father’s eyes; icy blue.

She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. Which is exactly how she got to Crowley the first time; he was just a 13 year old boy, blinded by the fact that a gorgeous teenage girl was talking to him. How was he supposed to know she was his sister and that she was planning on murdering him to avoid any struggle for their father’s inheritance?

She takes a seat in front of the desk. Crowley scowls at her, since this apparently isn’t going to be a quick visit. He’s curious, he must admit that though; his sister rarely shows up at Hell and when she does, she seldom bothers with him. For the most part, if she needs something from him, she uses an intermediary (Hastur, mostly)

“So… how are you?” she asks, still smirking. Crowley growls lowly and she laughs. “Don’t be like that, bro. I’m just making polite chit-chat.”

“Get to the point.” He knows it’s unwise to address her in such tone, but he’s not really in the mood for any of her games.

“So rude…” she murmurs, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I’m hurt, brother dear. Deeply hurt.” Her smirk turns malicious as she leans over the desk, her face coming closer to Crowley’s. “Alright, I’ll get to the point. I need you to do something for me.”

He nods; he had figured out as much. Question is, “Why come personally? You could just have told Hastur.”

Again, she rolls her eyes. “I’ll rather make this request personally, Crowley dear. Less chance of the message getting mixed.” There’s a spark on her eyes that Crowley doesn’t like, but he just nods again, knowing he can’t exactly refuse her, “I need you to find out what exactly is going on in Edinburgh.”

“I’m sure Scarlett-” he begins, because till this point Scarlett has been handling the situation in Edinburgh. They know little, true, and most information comes from what they found out during the Charity Ball, still…

“No, no, no, sweetheart. I want you to find out everything” she slides a folder he hadn’t even noticed she was carrying towards him “I also want your input on Manchester.”

“What’s-?”

“Read the file, Crowley. Don’t ask stupid questions.” She spits out exasperatedly, slamming her hand against the desk. “I expect a report in a month.”

Crowley alternates between staring at the folder and at his sister. “How am I supposed to find out ‘everything’ about Edinburg?”

“You have a lovely contact in Heaven, don’t you?” she asks, her tone mockingly sweet, “ask her.”

“Sure. Because Capitan Engel will tell me right away.”

“Oh Crowley, don’t be so dense. Do whatever needs to be done; I know she’s hardly your type, but it’s not like you haven’t done this before.”  Crowley feels a blush spreading across his cheeks at his sister’s crude insinuation.

“It won’t work with her.”

She sighs dramatically. “Handle it, Crowley. I know you can do it.” She stands up, preparing to leave, “can I count on you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Her laugh is cruel and amused. “Of course not, dear.” She winks and walks away so quickly that it’s almost as if she disappeared out of thin air. Crowley sighs, eying the folder nervously.

Time to get down to work, then.

* * *

 

He doesn’t like this. The plans on Manchester are so big that they make him slightly angsty. It’s obvious Hell isn’t planning on carrying on with the truce and that doesn’t bode well for his relationship with Aziraphale. Things aren’t exactly easy between them and if the Truce was to be over…

He knows what Aziraphale will do; she’ll cut him off. They’ll both be hurt, sure, but she’ll place her loyalty to Heaven over anything they could possibly have.  Which would be for the best, really, because things are complicated enough with their sides as unwilling allies; they’ll be impossible as true enemies.

So, what can he do?

He takes a sip from his now cold coffee. It’s almost midnight and normally he would be wrapped in bed with Aziraphale, but ever since he received his new assignment, he hasn’t been spending the night at his friend’s apartment. He can’t risk someone seeing them, especially not after his sister’s ‘suggestion’ on how to get the information.

Besides, he suspects Aziraphale herself is hiding something, judging by how distracted she has been. Even when they get to spend a few minutes together, it’s like she’s somewhere else. With a tired sigh, he places the empty mug on the sink and considers. It’s really late and he’s way too exhausted to come up with any plans. He might as well try to get some sleep; tomorrow will be a new day.

Hopefully, he’ll figure something out after some decent sleep.

* * *

 

It’s almost 8 o’clock in the morning when he jerks awake from a bad dream. He can’t remember any particular details, but his heart is beating fast and his breath comes in short, painful gasps. After a few moments of forcing himself to take long deep breaths, he tosses the quilts away and gets up.

It’s too freaking early for him to be up, especially on a weekend. Yet, he knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep; he’s too worked up for that. Sighing, he decides to get some breakfast before he starts working again.

The plan on Manchester isn’t bad; in fact it’s quite brilliant, but-

Something grabs his attention. Laying just by the entrance of the flat is what looks like a mobile phone, along with a piece of paper. Frowning, he picks up both items and examines the phone carefully. Looks pretty normal to him, but he suspects it isn’t.

The letter explains it all. He arches an eyebrow, wondering why Aziraphale finally decided it wasn’t a good idea to keep calling each other on their personal phones. Technically, Hell doesn’t keep track of his personal mobile, although if someone suspected there was something fishy going on…

Well. It won’t hurt to be more careful.

He keeps on reading, the frown on his face deepening. She’s going away. Why is she going way?! How long does ‘a while’ mean?!!

Before he can properly begin to freak out, he dials the number she scribbled at the end of the letter. It barely rings a couple of times before his counterpart answers, “Hello?”

“What do you mean you’re leaving for a while? How long is ‘a while’?” he demands angrily, a mix of frustration and worry showing in his tone.

“Six months. I’m going to the training camps.”

Training camps. She has ranted about how much she’s against training camps. Also, “Six-?! But, what about our meetings? The official ones, I mean. We-” he questions, desperately looking for a reason for her to stay.

“I’ll come back for them” she assures him “They might end up being scheduled on the weekends, but I’ll be here for them.”

How can she be so calm about this? Why is he always the most affected by everything? Why does she have this effect on him? “I’m not happy about this. Why are they sending you away? Does someone-?” he informs her very seriously, anger quickly replacing his worry.

“Don’t worry, my dear. It’ll be just for a while. I’ll be back before you know it and we can keep on communicating through these phones.”

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He won’t gain anything if he starts arguing with her. Most likely, she has her orders and there’s nothing either of them can do to change them. “I still don’t like it. I’ll miss you.”

A pause and he thinks maybe that was a low blow. They’re supposed to be friends; but friends can miss each other, right? “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

He huffs unbelievingly. “Don’t be ridiculous, angel. I just- it’ll be odd not seeing you every other day.” And painful. He’s gotten so used to seeing her, not matter how briefly.

“I know.” He hears it in her tone; she’s not happy about this development either.

“Okay.” He whispers, defeated, knowing he shouldn’t be making this more difficult, “just take care. I’ll call as much as I can.” Which probably means he’ll call everyday if he can get away with it.

“I’ll hold you up to that. See you around, my dear.”

“Goodbye angel.”

And so their separation begins. He eyes the folder lying on the table, detailing the plans for Manchester and the little info they have on Edinburg.

No. He’ll find a way. He can’t lose her.

Not now, not ever.

 

 


	33. Training Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training camp begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn’t update this sooner! The real sad part is that it has been finished for over 2 months and yet, I keep forgetting to update…  
> I’m terribly, terribly sorry.  
> Anyway, enjoy?

“This is an unusual way of retaliation, isn’t it?”

“Good morning to you too, Raphael.” Aziraphale answers, not bothering to stop unpacking to greet the newcomer. For a few minutes, the silence hangs heavy over them, until she finally caves in, “it has nothing to do with that.”

“Really? Because you’ve been a Field Agent for over 10 years and just now you’re getting send to be instructor at a training camp. Excuse me if I find hard to believe this isn’t a form of punishment.”

“For what? Not marrying him?” She questions, huffing. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would be petty. Besides, it’s not like he really wanted me anyway.”

“Aziraphale-”

“It won’t be that bad. I, well, at least I’ve got you, right?”

“Training camp is not for everyone, Aziraphale. You’ve been through it once but it’s different being on the other side.”

She smiles reluctantly. “I know. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Raphael sighs, but nods in quiet acceptance of her decision to stay. “Alright. I’ll see you at the presentation. Later, sis.”

She hums in acknowledgment. She knows she doesn’t want to be here, but what option does she have? She also knows this isn’t some sort of revenge, even if that’s what most people will think. She’s here for her own good.

Or at least that’s what she’s been telling herself.

* * *

 

There are four different locations for Training Camps. This year it’s being held in the facilities in the north, which happen to be the same place where Aziraphale did her own training. It’s been 10 years, but she remembers everything clearly: how she was pushed to her limits, how she felt like dying half of the time, how her mind started slowly slipping away. Six months doesn’t sound like a long time, but those months were harsh. In fact, they were probably the worst months of her life, if she doesn’t count her ‘stay’ in Madrid.

And she never looks back to her time in Madrid.

She’s nervous, to be honest. It’s one thing to train an intern for a year, trying to prepare him as much as possible for what’s to come and a completely different one to be here. She’s expected to break this men (just men this year; Anathema was the only female and she’s been successfully transferred to the Spy Division); she’s supposed to come up with the worst possible situations to test their resolve, their strength, their ability and will to survive. She has always known most interns don’t come back from Training Camps, but now she’ll get to see them die from the front row.

Some people enjoy it. Most don’t, so it’s not really a permanent position. Very few mentor for more than a couple of years, although she honestly hopes she won’t be forced to do it ever again. God, she really isn’t sadistic enough for this.

There are many tales of her forfeiting companions when the mission so demanded. There are also many stories of the assassinations she has performed over the years, when needed. All of them are true, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys it. She knows how to kill and torture, knows what to do to get what she needs, but she has never enjoyed it.

She looks at this year recruits and steels herself to begin her speech. They’re children, really, most not a day older than twenty. So was she, but the fact that she survived doesn’t mean she thinks this is a good way to screen their interns. She doesn’t approve and yet…

“Welcome to the Training Camp” she greets them calmly, her voice betraying none of her feelings. “I’m Capitan Aziraphale Engel and I’ll be your mentor this year. Allow me to introduce the rest of the training team; Chief Healer Raphael Archangel will be in charge of any medical assistance you might need” from the corner of her eye she can see Raphael nodding in greeting. “Officers Connor and Bell wIll be in charge of your supervision whenever you aren’t on mission training” she points to the two men standing next to Raphael, who also nod after hearing their names. “They’ll also be in charge of your theoretical education; along with me, the three of us hope to give you enough tools to survive anything that might be thrown your way.”

She can feel the nervous tension emanating from the interns. Most have this self-assured look that Aziraphale remembers from most of her companions of 10 years ago. That will soon disappear; they’ll soon see this is nothing like they imagined: no matter how many stories you hear from Training Camps, they are never close enough to reality.

The thought makes her strangely regretful.

“I must warn you; this won’t be easy on you. I know you’ve heard a thousand tales about what happens here, but let me tell you: the scariest, creepiest, sickest story you heard? It doesn’t even begin to illustrate what you’re about to experiment.”

She starts pacing, trying to keep her tone even, “Now you think you can handle it; most of you can’t. We’ll start ‘easy’ and things won’t go better until you leave this camp. So listen to me and listen well; if after the first 2 weeks you don’t think you can do it, quit. Simple as that. If you don’t, you’ll be most likely dead0 by week 6 and if by some miracle you manage to survive the whole camp but at the end we judge you’re not mentally stable enough, you’ll be taken out.” She can see Connor and Bell tensing; she’s not supposed to tell them that. She won’t lie to them, though. They need to know what’s in store for them.

“There’s no shame in admitting you can’t do this. Training Camp is not only about learning to survive, but about understanding your limits. You’re no use to Heaven if you can’t tell when enough is enough. What will happen to you in the next six months will leave deep scars, both in your bodies and your minds. If you can’t push through that, you’re of no use to this organization. It’s harsh, it’s cruel, maybe it’s unfair. But it’s the truth. I won’t sugarcoat things for you; this is what you’re signing up for. You think you can handle it? We’ll see. It’s not about who’s toughest or bravest. It’s about who can guard themselves enough to carry on in the darkest moments.”

She stops, letting her words sink in. She remembers the thrill after hearing her mentor’s speech; it was nothing like hers. She won’t speak of the glory of serving Heaven, of the importance of the work they do. They already know that. They just don’t fully understand what it’s waiting for them.

“I wish you all the best of lucks. Eat well, sleep as much as you can. Tomorrow, we’ll begin.”

She knows she sounds foreboding, but she can’t help it. Her dark mood shows in her stance and her words. She might sound a bit bitter, but she honestly believes it’s for the best. They’ll see the truth soon enough, yet that doesn’t mean she should lie them. It won’t do them any good.

She walks back to her room, forfeiting lunch. She might also skip dinner. If she interacts too much with this men (teenagers, really), if she begins seeing them as individuals and not as a bunch of recruits, she’s not sure she’ll be able to do this.  

* * *

 

Training Camps are meant to prepare recruits for the most extreme situations. Theoretically, at least. In practice, for the most part, they focus on pushing the trainees to what would be, for most people, the breaking point.

That wasn’t Aziraphale case, though. Growing up hadn’t been a picnic and even if her mother was always loving and nurturing (somewhat), she was almost never around, so her uncle took care of most of her upbringing.

She knew how to protect herself from more damaging blows, how to roll and dodge, how to behave to get people to calm down and stop hitting her. She knew how to ration her food and water when she wasn’t sure if there was going to be something for later. She knew to keep her head down and follow orders to avoid worsening her situation.

During her training she sometimes had panic attacks, when a particular session reminded her too much of the night she almost died, but she fared much better than most of her companions. She knew how to keep her worst memories at bay and how to carry on even when she didn’t feel like it.

She closes off when the situation so demands and as unhealthy as her method of dealing with trauma is, it’s effective and especially useful in her line of work. It’s what has kept her alive and more or less sane for so long.

Never mind that it might also be the reason why all her relationships are so complicated.

“Are you okay?”

She looks up from the book she’s pretending to read and smiles at Raphael. “Yes, fine. I’m just remembering.”

Raphael nods understandingly, coming to sit next to her on the bed. “I never thanked you, did I?” at her puzzled expression he carries on, “for Michel. For keeping him sane in here.”

Aziraphale shakes her head. “There’s no need. I didn’t really- I didn’t do anything.”

“You know that’s a lie” the other argues calmly, “when he said he wanted to be a Field Agent… I tried to change his mind. When he left for the Training Camp, I never actually thought we’d see him again.”

She doesn’t know how to answer that, so she doesn’t. Raphael sighs, sadly. “I know this won’t be easy for you, but for this kids your presence might be a blessing. I think this year the deaths’ rate will drop significantly.”

She huffs, “there’s very little I can actually do for them. I can’t go easy on them, because-”

“They’ll get sent back next year. Or worse, they’ll get killed. I know. I understand.” He turns to her, taking her hands in his, “I also know it won’t be your fault whatever happens to them in here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course it’ll be my fault. But I intend to make my best effort to keep these boys as sane as possible.”

He nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

It probably is.

Not ideal, but that’s the best they can get.

“Get some rest, Zira. We’ve got six long months ahead of us.”

She closes her eyes, holding back a defeated sigh. She’ll do what she can. She can’t save them all, but she’ll try her very best. It’s all she can do; no matter if she believes this is wrong. These are her orders, this is Heaven’s way. She won’t question.

She won’t.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts anyone? I've already written till chapter 36, so I hope I won't take long to update...  
> You can also find me in my [tumblr](HTTP:YLC1.TUMBLR.COM)


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s been almost a month since the last update and I’m terribly sorry for taking so long! I’m struggling a bit for inspiration (well, no, because I know what I want to write, I’m just not in the mood for it)  
> But anyway, here’s a new chapter. Enjoy?

It’s a well known fact that Scarlett Rider is one of the most beautiful women working in Hell. Still, most people outside Hell have never really seen her, so nobody really knows if the claim is true or not. Despite numerous attempts of photographers to capture the picture of the mythical beauty, nobody has managed yet.

That’s because Scarlett is a very good at her job and going undercover is one of her top skills. She turns heads wherever she goes, but she’s easily dismissed as just a beautiful woman, which makes people not pay much attention to what she does.

Tonight she’s going to a bar in the outskirts of London, following a group of Heaven’s Lieutenants. The men have seen her before, but they’re yet to become suspicious of her continued presence. The fact that they keep their attention mostly on her cleavage helps a great deal.

Crowley stares at his co-worker, assessing her outfit. She’s wearing a pretty black dress, with a daring neckline and black high heels. The only jewelry adorning her is a long necklace; the pendant hangs just between her breasts, dragging even more attention to them. “So… you’re ready?”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the information we need” she tells him confidently. They’ve spent the afternoon revising the information they have on Edinburgh and practicing the questions she could ask without making anyone too suspicious. “But I don’t expect them to know much more. I believe they’ve finally outrun their usefulness.”

Crowley shrugs. “That would mean the end of your late working.”

The female smirks. “You know,my efforts wouldn’t have been needed if you hadn’t decided to be all moral about this.” Although she’s smirking, Crowley knows her accusation is serious. Still, there’s nothing he can say to justify himself. “I just want to know why.”

“Why what?” he asks, deciding to play dumb. Scarlett rolls her eyes once more.

“You’ve done it before.” She says, crossing her arms. “Seduction is a weapon we’re both skilled at, so why not use it against her? What makes her so special?”

Crowley scoffs. “You think I haven’t tried? But Aziraphale won’t break. She’s-” he gestures vaguely, unsure of how to end the phrase. Aziraphale is special alright, but the truth is that his attempts of seduction haven’t been focused on getting more information.

Scarlett frowns but then shrugs. “If you say so.” She concedes defeat and smiles once more. “If you pick me up later, we could-” she presses against him, letting her body language finish her offer. Crowley stares at her, his body reacting at her closeness, but his mind reminds blank.

Well, not exactly blank. What his mind is currently focused on is the memory of Aziraphale’s body on top of his; the way she moved with swiftly precision, as if she knew just where to touch to make him undone.

He gulps and focuses back on the matter at hand. “I’ll rather not.”

Scarlett lets go of him, an amused smirk on her lips. “You’re still seeing your married lady friend?”

He glares. “That’s none of your business.”

The female smirks some more. “Is that also the reason why you didn’t try harder to get into your Heaven contact’s pants? Really Crowley-”

“Let’s get this done with.” He interrupts her darkly, grabbing his keys, “I’ll drive you there but you’ll have to get back home by your own means.”

The redhead shrugs. “I’ll manage. Unlike you, I have no qualms about using whatever means necessary to get what I need.”

He doesn’t even spare a glance in her direction. He refuses to give her that satisfaction.

* * *

 

They’re driving towards the bar when his phone rings. Normally he would ignore it, but since it had been lying over the board, Scarlett picks it up. For a second, Crowley panics, but forces himself to stay still. Aziraphale is really cautious when they’re on the phone, so it’s not like he has anything to worry for.

“Hello?” Scarlett says, a sly smile on her lips. Crowley scowls at her and her smile widens, amused.

Whatever Aziraphale replies Crowley can’t hear it, but Scarlett’s keeps on smirking, obviously amused. “He’s right here, sweetheart. Hold on a second.” She passes him the phone and Crowley glares at her for a second, before turning his attention back to the road.

“Hello” he greets, trying to keep his tone flat, even if his heart has somehow speed up.

“Who was that?” Aziraphale questions, her tone light, although he picks a hint of annoyance in it.

“Scarlett” he replies evenly, knowing he needs to add nothing more.

“Oh. What are you doing with her this late?” she asks and Crowley glances briefly at the clock. It’s close to midnight.

“Nothing much.” He answers, knowing he can’t tell her the truth, even if Scarlett wasn’t listening closely to their conversation.

There’s a long tense silence after that. Crowley wonders what Aziraphale is thinking, but just when he’s about to question her, she hangs up. He stares at the phone, baffled by his counterpart behavior. What-

“Smooth, Crowley. Real smooth.” Scarlett says sarcastically. “Tell the woman you’re ‘dating’ you’re with another woman, late at night, doing ‘nothing much’.”

He frowns. “What?”

The redhead rolls her eyes. “Men. They’re all morons.”

What Scarlett suggests makes no sense. Aziraphale is not the jealous type and even if she was, hadn’t they agreed they are just friends? She has no right- Absolutely no right-

He fights back his need to call her back and explain. He can’t tell her the truth and besides, they’re not- she can’t expect- they-

“Dammit” he murmurs quietly and Scarlett laughs merrily.

“Buck up, pretty boy. I’m sure you’ll make something up by the time you see her again.”

Crowley scowls. “You shouldn’t have answered in the first place.”

“And lose the chance to make fun of you and see you pout? I don’t think so.”

Crowley groans. Really, what has he done to deserve this?

* * *

 

Against popular opinion, regardless of his good looks and effortless ability to flirt, Crowley is not a particularly sexual creature. He enjoys sex well enough and certainly reacts whenever a pretty woman presses against him seductively, but for the most part he goes through life without much interest in sex.

While his sister, Scarlett and most of his co-workers think he finds out the information he needs by getting into people’s pants, that’s not really the case. He’s a smooth talker, blessed with a silver tongue and a good ear that picks up what people mean, not only what they say. Occasionally he does sleep with his informants, but not as often as everyone seem to assume.

Nor does he make a habit of seducing random people just for the pleasure of a good roll in the hay. While he understands how sex with random strangers can be quite thrilling and enjoyable, he’s a romantic at heart and prefers to have an actual connection with his bed partners.

The fact that currently the only thing that gets his motor running is the thought of Aziraphale, also makes him disinterested in sex in general. The occasional visit to Madam Black’s brothel is explained that way too; Judith looks quite a lot like the object of his desire and with a few drinks in him, he can pretend, at least for a little while.

He sits outside the bar, staring at his phone. It’s ridiculous that Aziraphale can even think he would sleep with Scarlett; for the most part he keeps his work relationships professional. Scarlett has offered a couple of times, true, but he likes to keep his distance from the people he works with. He has told Aziraphale this, he’s sure of it; It came up when they were discussing her fiancé!

A part of him is thrilled with her display of jealousy, but mostly, he’s just annoyed. If they’re not going to pursue their relationship, they shouldn’t act like they were something other than sort of co-workers. He can’t handle this emotional rollercoaster that Aziraphale is so fond of subjecting him to.

It’s not fair. He doesn’t really understand how her brain works; for the most part she’s terribly self centered. Whatever she might feel for him quickly gets overpowered by her own needs and wants.

Why does he love her so much then?

The phone rings once more and he picks up right away. For a couple of seconds, none of them say anything. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale sighs. “Are you alone?” He nods and after realizing she can’t see him, replies affirmatively. His counterpart sighs once again, before continuing. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what came over me.”

“Nevermind” he counters, because really, what else can he say? “How are you?”

“I realize I have no right. You owe me absolutely nothing and I don’t- I shouldn’t- Oh god Crowley, why is it so hard?”

He doesn’t answer. He suspects there’s no right answer and whatever he says will only make matters worse. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re just working.” He says, because he feels bad about making her jealous, even if neither of them is entitled to feel that way.

Aziraphale lets out a dry laugh. “I’m the one who keeps asking for space but I’m also the only who’s incapable of keeping it. I- I apologise.”

He bits his lip hard enough to draw blood. He can’t do this; he really can’t. It’s too much. “How are you doing? Everything alright at the camp?” he questions, desperately trying to change the subject. His tone betrays his emotions, but it’s not like Aziraphale doesn’t know how he feels.

“It’s awful.” She replies honestly, something sad and defeated in her tone. He hates how tired she sounds and wishes there was something he could do to help. “I think- I don’t think- I might lose a couple of recruits next week. They- they don’t look like they’ll survive much longer.”

There’s anger in her tone, and frustration. He doesn’t understand how or why Heaven comes up with such trials for their people; it’s obviously a very taxing affair for everyone involved. “And you?”

“I’ll endure.” He knows she will, but the question is, how will she live with herself afterwards?

“You’re strong, angel. You can do this. You can survive this.”

“I know. I just- I wish I hadn’t been sent here.”

It’s a punishment and they both know it. Even if Aziraphale likes to pretend it isn’t and that her ex-fiancé is not out for revenge. “Is there- is there someway I could help?”

She chuckles softly. “I like listening to your voice. It’s… comforting.”

There’s a long silence after that. Crowley doesn’t know what to say and Aziraphale doesn’t seem inclined to add something else. “I should probably go to sleep. I got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Alright, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” A long pause. “Sleep well, my dear.” She hangs up and Crowley closes his eyes, taking one long breath before putting his phone away.

There’s really no way he can keep doing this.

But he must.

* * *

 

It’s been a week since their awkward phone conversation. There’s a meeting scheduled in a week, but it feels like a lifetime of waiting. It’s not like they haven’t talked since then, but the conversations have been short, stiffen, curt. He knows she’s not alright, yet he doesn’t know if there’s some way he can help.

He’s not doing that well either. The plans on Manchester are going well; too well in fact. If things carry on this way, the Truce will be over by the end of the year. Which Crowley wouldn’t mind much if it didn’t mean the end of his ‘relationship’ with Aziraphale too.

He’s thinking of making his own Agreement with Aziraphale. If they share more information than what their employers have agreed on, they might find ways to keep the Truce afloat. If both sides think they know more than the other, they’ll be content enough with the situation and won’t press for anything else.

It would require an awful lot of delicacy and negotiation, but nothing Crowley can’t handle.

Thing is, will Aziraphale agree?

He’ll have to wait to find out, won’t he?

* * *

 

The day of the meeting finally arrives and Crowley finds himself facing a very troubled looking Aziraphale. She doesn’t look as bad as she did before the wedding; at least she has continued gaining weight and getting enough sleep, but there’s a certain tension on her shoulders that speak of endless hours worrying and stressing over something.

Still, the moment her eyes land of him, her lips curve into a bright smile that warms Crowley to his very core. “Hello angel” he greets, sitting next to her, close enough for their knees to brush. Aziraphale frowns lightly at that, but doesn’t comment.

“Hello my dear” she replies calmly, “how was your week?”

“Awful” he answers truthfully and she nods solemnly, “I missed you.”

She nods once more, her own way of saying ‘me too’. Crowley smiles softly at her, before turning his attention to the duck pond. He knows what he wants to say, but he’s not sure how to approach the subject. Aziraphale hands him a folder with a bunch of documents and he takes it with a nod, before handing his own. The female skims through it quickly, not really paying attention.

“What do you know about Edinburg?” he asks without preamble. Aziraphale tenses for a second, before visibly forcing herself to relax. She turns to him, feigning indifference and arching an eyebrow questioningly. “Come on, angel. I know you’re somewhat involved”

“What gives you that impression?” she says, moving away almost imperceptibly. Crowley frowns. “That’s out of my jurisdiction.”

“I suspect that nothing that happens on Heaven is outside your jurisdiction” he argues, “I strongly suspect you’re the real puppet master behind most of Heave schemes.”

Aziraphale stares at him for a while, thinking hard before she answers, “I happen to know about most of what Heaven plans, but I’m in no way a puppet master. I get invited to collaborate, but I’m not the mastermind behind all plans.”

“But behind most?”

She doesn’t answer; instead she poses another question. “What’s your point, my dear?”

“I have a proposition” he slides closer to her once again, crowding her space in the park bench, “I’ll tell you all about Manchester and you’ll tell all about Edinburg.”

“I don’t-”

“And then we’ll decide what should we tell our bosses. Something that’ll make them think they have the upper hand.”

“So the Truce holds up?”

He nods. She bits her lip and Crowley’s eyes flicks towards them. He thinks about their last kiss and has the sudden urge to close the distance between them but restrains himself. “I’ll have to think about it” Aziraphale whispers, her own eyes fixed on his lips. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think about it.”

“It’s all I ask.” He replies, his tone somewhat even, though he’s barely paying attention to the words leaving his lips. “Angel-”

“I gotta go.” She whispers, standing up abruptly. “I’ll call you. Soon.”

Crowley nods, but Aziraphale is already gone. He sighs, feeling both desperate and excited; this game of theirs is terribly dangerous: the stakes are ridiculously high and the slightest mistake…

No use in worrying, though. They’ll handle it.

They must.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thought anyone? Hopefully next update won’t take so long…  
> Thanks for reading!


	35. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale deals with her tangled emotions.  
> It'ssomething she'd really rather not do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… it’s been awhile since I wrote anything for this fic. I’m terribly sorry about taking so long between updates but my inspiration has run a little bit dry so…  
> Anyway, enjoy?

After hanging up, Aziraphale stares at the phone for a long while. Did she just- Did she really- Did she hang up in a jealous fit?

Yes, she did. That can’t be good. Since when does she behaves like that? She’s not the jealous type. When she was 15 and started dating James, even when all the other girls were shamelessly flirting with him, Aziraphale never reacted. She just smiled at him and ignored them. She never felt this- this- this anger.

“Dammit.” She whispers softly, throwing the phone on the bed and proceeding to pace around the room nervously. This really isn’t the time for this; she can’t afford these distractions. She has bigger issues.

It’s been a month since she left London. Not a single recruit quit after the first two weeks, although it’s obvious more than one is regretting that decision. As she promised, they started “easy” with just some rough physical training; getting used to go without much food or water, little sleep and harsh climate conditions. Some fighting and use of weapons. Nothing much.

But now things have started to get tougher. They started with torture the day before and Aziraphale had retired early, forfeiting any food, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep anything down. She cried herself to sleep.

She doesn’t know how she did it the first time around, but she’s pretty certain she wouldn’t survive it now. Or maybe it’s just worse seeing it happening to others, especially to such young and once upon a time full of brightness and confident men.

Either way, she can’t afford any distractions right now. This men need her and if she can’t keep her head on the game, many things will go wrong in the next following weeks.

Still…

She looks at the phone and bits her lip. With hesitance, she picks it back up. She wants to call; she needs some comfort and she knows Crowley is the one who can give it to her, but-

There’s a knock on the door and after a few seconds of silence, it opens, allowing Raphael in. “How are you?” he questions, coming to sit on the bed. He’s a carrying a tray with a soup bowl and some bread and Aziraphale’s stomach growls.

“As well as I can be.” She replies honestly, taking a seat next to the small desk in the corner of the room. Raphael looks at her appraisingly, before nodding slowly.

“You should eat. And don’t bother saying you’re not hungry.”

She sighs. “I’m hungry. I just- I don’t think I’ll be able to keep anything down.”

“You keep on like this and soon enough you’ll be as sick as you were before the wedding. All this stress-”

“I know, I know, but what do you want me to do about it?!” she snaps frustrated and immediately regrets it. Her situation isn’t Raphael’s fault.

She has no one to blame but herself.

Her oldest “brother” doesn’t reply. He comes closer to her, placing the tray on top of the desk, before pulling her up into a hug. He doesn’t say a word, just holds her close for a while. She feels like crying, but manages to keep it together if only for a little while. “I’m sorry” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

She’s not sure what she’s apologising for. She shakes with the force of her sobs and she curses how weak, how incompetent she feels right now. She needs to focus. She can do this. She must do this.

She still has five months to go.

* * *

 

She gives in just before she goes to bed. She calls and talks to Crowley, barely conscious of the words leaving her lips. She’s tired and frustrated and so very scared. Her emotions overwhelm her and that’s something she’s just not equipped to handle. She has never dealt well with emotions.

She’s a creature of action; she'd rather do than feel. That’s why she’s so good at her job; she makes elaborate plans and execute them flawlessly, not letting for a second morality or emotions get on her way. Lately however, that’s not the case.

She thinks that a couple of years ago, she could have handle the Training Camp without even blinking. She has always thought the whole thing it’s a little extreme, but two years ago her own feelings on the matter wouldn’t have made a difference: what mattered were her orders and her orders alone.

Now, however…

Crowley has changed her in ways she didn’t care to change at all. She has opened up for a world of trouble and she doubts there’s a way to turn back. She feels too much and that’s too scary.

She wants to turn around and run. Disappear without a trace. She has done it before, she could do it again, she’s certain of that. But that would mean…

It would mean leaving Crowley behind. And that’s a thought she doesn’t even want to entertain.

With a growl, she turns on the bed, so she’s laying on her stomach. Worrying will lead her nowhere, but she can’t help it. She needs to do something, but she’s at lost to what to do. She feels so young and helpless; pretty much like she felt all those years ago when she found her mother’s file.

In the long run, love will only hurt her. But she’s in too deep now; she can’t unfeel this. She can fight it, deny it, ignore it. Sooner or later, though, it’ll overcome her.

And then what?

* * *

 

A week later, when she comes back from her meeting with Crowley, she’s beyond troubled.

Crowley’s proposal is dangerous. It’s important that the Truce holds up, but if she gets in a personal Agreement with Crowley, she’ll compromise her own principles. She believes in Heaven; in the work they do. Telling Crowley everything would be tration, there’s no way around it. Still, it would be for the greater good, right?

Greater good. Ja! What a joke. She doesn’t give a damn about the greater good; she doesn’t care about anything other than her tangled emotions. Keeping the Truce means keeping Crowley in her life and who is she kidding? Of course she’s going to choose to keep him, consequences be damned.

It’s a mistake and she knows it. In the longer run, it’ll cost her everything.

Still, she’ll never quite bring herself to regret it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? This chapter is really short, but I always struggle with the chapters from Aziraphale’s POV...  
> Thanks for reading!


	36. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this ages ago, but I wasn’t completely satisfied with this chapter… It feels a little short and the not-quite-smut scene doesn’t feel quite right but well… I hope you’d enjoy it?

Crowley has started to believe his proposal has been rejected, when Aziraphale finally acknowledges it. They been talking on the phone everyday (or almost every day), but it’s almost been a month and she hasn’t mentioned it, so he hasn’t brought it up. Today, however, that changes.

“About your proposal-” she starts and Crowley prepares himself for the blown. If she says “no” (which is likely), he knows he’ll lose her soon enough. The thought is awfully depressing.

“Yes?”

“We’ve got a meeting scheduled next weekend. I’ll see on Friday.”

“I-”

“Your apartment. I’ll let myself in.”

He wants to say something, but he’s not sure what. He’s nervous and excited and that’s a terrible combination for his sanity. “Ok. See you on Friday then, angel.”

Aziraphale hangs up without saying goodbye, but he doesn’t care much. He has 3 days to prepare himself mentally for what is to come; regardless of the outcome of their next meeting, things are about to change again.

He hopes it’ll be for the best.

* * *

 

On Friday, he doesn’t plan to got to the office at all, but Hastur makes him. He curses his boss’ bad timing on his way back home, now feeling in no mood to discuss anything with Aziraphale. He dislikes his boss greatly, but he has never quite hated him as much as today.

When he walks into his apartment, he finds Aziraphale standing in front of the living room’s window. She looks so normal there; like she belongs. His heart aches at the thought, but he forces his foolish hopes away. It’s not the time to get distracted by his feelings.

“Good evening, my dear.” She greets him, without turning to face him. She’s holding a glass of wine and looks deep in thought, so Crowley pours some wine for himself and joins her by the window.

“How’s everything?” he asks, not sure of how to ask the question that’s really bothering him. Aziraphale shrugs helplessly.

“As well as it can be.”

He takes a good look at her. She had been gaining back weight after the interrupted wedding, but now she’s sickly thin again. Her hair is longer, but it looks ungroomed. The most telling sign of her distress are her nails though: while she normally keeps them perfectly manicured, now they’re in an absolute state of disarray.

“You’re tired.” He states and she huffs. With a sigh, he takes her glass of wine away and places it along with his on the kitchen’s counter. Aziraphale observes him curiously, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Come on, you’re in no state of discussing anything.”

Aziraphale shrugs once more, but follows him into his bedroom. Once there he hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. She doesn’t seem to have the same issue though, as she quickly sheds off her clothes and tosses them in a corner.

With her naked back at him, he can see the tense lines of her spine and shoulders. When she crawls in bed, without sparing a glance in his direction, he snaps into action, coming to sit on the bed next to her.

“Turn around” he whispers and Aziraphale frowns at him. Despite everything, habits die hard and she’s not one to turn her back to the enemy, no matter what. Crowley sighs and holds her stare, hoping she’ll comply.

Eventually, she does, going to lay on her stomach. In a quick movement, Crowley places himself on top of her, his legs on each side of her, careful not to put any weight on her. Aziraphale throws a questioning glance over her shoulder, but quickly realizes what are his intentions, when he starts to softly massage her tense shoulders.

She’s even more tense than he first thought, but she quickly melts under his attentions. He tries to keep it strictly platonic, ignoring his own body reactions at Aziraphale’s pleased moans, but his pants soon become uncomfortably tight and soon enough he finds himself kissing the back of her neck and then carrying his way over her tattooed wings, all the while Aziraphale keeps making pleased sounds.

“We shouldn’t.” She tells him, but makes no move to stop him. He’s regretting having even started this; he should have known where it would likely end. Still, she’s stressed and he wants to help- and he knows it’s a terrible idea and so very selfish of him, but he wants-

“Turn around” He whispers, kissing her shoulder one last time, before standing up to allow her to turn around. Aziraphale obeys quietly, lust reflecting in her blue eyes, but there’s a hint of wariness in there that Crowley doesn’t like.

“If you want me to stop…” he lets the words hang between them, while he carefully removes her underwear. She watches him closely, her pupils blown by lust and he’s having a very hard time trying to keep his composure. He wants to kiss her and he wants to make love to her, but he really ought not to. It will only make things more complicated.

This, however, he supposes he can do. After all, it doesn’t have to mean anything; it’s just a way to help her relieve some stress. And if he enjoys it a little (or a lot)... well, that’s his business and his alone.

Aziraphale gives a tiny, barely there nod and Crowley smiles softly at her, before kissing the inside of her thight. She lets out a breathless little moan and so he sucks at the tender flesh of her thigh, making her moan louder. He looks up, locking eyes with her, before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

It’s been a long while since he has done this, but he supposes he remembers well enough how to pleasure a woman judging by the approving sounds Aziraphale makes. Soon enough she’s bucking her hips, moaning loudly and he’s fairly certain he’s about to come into his pants like a teenager, but doesn’t really care; not when Aziraphale is making such lovely sounds.

Her back arches and her mouth opens in a soundless cry and Crowley thinks he won’t ever be able to lay with another woman and not think of how beautiful she looked like this. As she comes down from her high, looking tired but satisfied, he can’t help to smile brightly at her.

Aziraphale smiles softly at him and she looks so soft and vulnerable that it’s hard to reconcile the image with the one of the tough Heaven’s Capitan he knows. She sits up, still smiling. “Let me help you with that.” She tells him and that’s when he notices that his erection is still pressing against the front of his pants. He blushes and tries to stand up, but Aziraphale’s hand on his hip stops him.

“There’s no need-” he starts, but Aziraphale rolls her eyes and stops him mid sentence by sliding her hand into his pants, beneath his underwear and grasping him firmly. Instead of arguing, he lets out a loud moan and she chuckles, sliding closer to him on the bed.

“It’s only fair.” She tells him, pumping him with one hand while the other undoes the fly and the buttons of his pants. Crowley can’t really answer, busy as he is enjoying her attentions.

It’s over soon enough and if he hadn’t been enjoying it so much, he would have been embarrassed of how quickly it’s over. Aziraphale rubs their noses together lovingly, but she doesn’t kiss him. It stings a little, but then again this wasn’t about love or affection; it was just some stress relief.

Or so he keeps telling himself.

“Let’s sleep for a while.” She tells him softly. “We’ll discuss everything in the morning.”

He nods and stands up, quickly heading to the bathroom to clean himself. By the time he comes back, Aziraphale has already fallen asleep and so he lies on the other side of the bed, wraps his arms around her and promptly follows suit.

They’ll discuss everything in the morning.

* * *

 

“I’ll tell you all you want to know about Edinburg, but you’ll consult with me what you’re going to tell your bosses before you do.”

Crowley is still a little boneless after their last night encounter, but he nods. Aziraphale’s ability to get down to business like nothing ever happened, will never cease to amaze him.

There are a couple of coffee cups that he recognizes from the bakery down street. There’s also some freshly baked scones that smell heavenly, so he helps himself with a couple of them before he can begin discussing with Aziraphale the finer points of their new Agreement.

His companion is wearing an old t-shirt of his, along with some sweat pants. Both are a little tight for her, but she looks comfortable enough. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun and she looks far more relaxed and happy than the night before.

“Are you alright?” she questions, taking a sip from her coffee and watching him curiously. He smiles and nods, knowing she won’t appreciate him telling just how happy he feels right now. This small, stolen moments of domesticity make him terribly happy.

“Anyway,” she seems to decide to give up on trying to figure out his smile and goes back to her business tone. It’s funny, how she manages to look so put together even now. “Crowley, are you sure you’re okay?” She’s frowning and he imagines he’s wearing the dopiest grin in the history of humankind and he wishes he could stop, but he’s feeling very cheerful this morning.

“I’m fine angel. Don’t worry. What were you saying about Edinburgh?”

She frowns, but decides to let it go for now. Crowley smiles at her as she starts talking, not paying enough attention, but not caring much about it.

What it’s important is that for now, he gets to keep Aziraphale is his life. Everything else is secondary.

Including his ever growing and probably very unhealthy feelings.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? Next update might take even longer, because I’m going through a bit of writer’s block, but I hope this one was enjoyable?  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a comment, please!!!


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